


Cogito Ergo Sum

by mizdiz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Gen, M/M, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7107385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just your typical zombie au: fallen civilization, flesh eating living dead, corrupt leaders, a search for a cure, an underground coalition of zombies who have maintained their consciousness fighting for their semi-human rights, human/zombie relationships, and a newborn who holds the answers to everything...</p><p>Well, maybe not so typical, after all.</p><p>[ON TEMPORARY HIATUS; NOT ABANDONED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have said before, and will continue to maintain, that: I DON'T EVEN LIKE ZOMBIES. But, after reading the book, "Raising Stony Mayhall" (which I highly recommend to any and all people), this idea bloomed, and I couldn't let it go. And ofc, bc it's me, it became a gd Thing. So it goes.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to my internet bff (queerly-sirius.tumblr.com) for all his encouragement, such as, "you have so many other things to do, don't write this!" and "you don't even like zombies, wtf??" This is for you, buddy-o. 
> 
> This is the zombie au for zombie lovers and zombie haters alike. Enjoy! Comment! Kudo! Do none of the above! It's really all up to you! 
> 
> Also, as always, feel free to drop me a line down at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com
> 
> Trigger warning for lots of violence, bc it is, after all, a gd zombie apocalypse au. 
> 
> Happy reading!!

He’d always heard that smell was the easiest to get acclimated to, but still, he’d find himself catching whiffs of the dead. While usually scent blind, these moments would throw him off his guard, catapulting him back to the very beginning, when the infection first hit. He never used to know what decomposition smelled like. What surprised him the most was how quickly it came on. Bodies started piling up along the streets not long after the first outbreak, the brains oozing from the backs of skulls, and not twelve hours later did the whole city reek of death.

 

He was used to bodies now.

 

They had become a permanent decoration to the landscape, bloating, emitting that familiar perfume. It was the worst when it rained. The droplets eroded away bits of flesh and washed them into the sewer system and into the ground. Still, he no longer mourned the dead—the  _ truly _ dead, who lay still in their resting places and remained that way. In fact, he almost envied the them. For the dead, there was no war to fight; no limbo to exist in.

 

Envy was easier on his conscience, when a bullet or a blow pierced the brain of a stranger, and the killshot was his own.

 

But still there were these moments, trampling through the forest among half dead bodies sinking into the soil, where the smell of rot grabbed at him like clawed fingers, and he was forced to remember the world as it now was—as it was going to remain. He functioned now under three rules, and three rules only:

 

  1. Stay alive.
  2. Keep the ones you love alive.
  3. Disregard rule one, if it means enforcing rule two.



 

It wasn’t much of a life, but life was the only thing he had left to hold onto, so hold onto it he did, with a white-knuckle grip.

 

“We’ve got word from the Prewett brothers,” James said in lieu of a greeting, as Sirius made his way back to the campsite with an armful of firewood. “Peter found this raiding the grocer’s this morning.” James held out a crumpled piece of paper. Sirius dropped the wood beside the firepit and took it. 

 

‘ _ To any Heartbeaters who may find this: _

 

_ North infiltrated with Deadheads. Stay south, or risk loss of flesh (and, you know, life). Rendezvous at The Burrow scheduled two weeks from Tuesday, assuming there still remains a Burrow to rendezvous at, or anyone to rendezvous with. If attending, be sure to make yourself appear as alive as possible, or risk being shot on sight. Have a wonderful and bite free day! _

_ -F&G Prewett _ ’

 

“That’s a six day trek south, assuming we don’t run into any trouble,” said Sirius, handing the paper back to James. “And what day is today? I’ve lost track.”

 

“Friday,” said James, pocketing the letter in his muddy jeans. “Which means we must be the only Living around here, if no one has found that letter until now.”

 

“At least any Living that’s bothered to try looting the city,” Sirius said. 

 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s not a whole lot of wildlife around here that the Deadheads haven’t already gotten to, and most of the plants are poisonous. If there was anyone out there not stealing food and water from the city, then I can’t imagine they’re out there anymore.”

 

While logically he knew that James was being practical, it still sent a pang through his gut to hear his best friend talk so callously about death.

 

“The Prewett brothers could have left more than one note,” Sirius suggested. “They’ve got to know they’ve got more than just one or two Living out here waiting to hear from them. I mean, every damn Heartbeater left in England is following their lead.” 

 

“And yet no one even knows who they are,” James said bitterly. Sirius frowned.

 

“Do you not trust them now?”

 

“I didn’t say that. I just think it’s a dick move to get all the Living to cling to one thread of hope that maybe there’s some inkling of a civilization left out there, but to never help them get there.”

 

“What do you mean they never help? We wouldn’t even know about The Burrow if it weren’t for the Prewett brothers,” said Sirius. James shrugged.

 

“They leave notes behind, but they never show their faces. They expect us to pass the news, even though we don’t know where the rest of the Heartbeaters are half the time. They’re treating our lives like a Goddamn scavenger hunt. We don’t even know if The Burrow is a real place. We’ve got a point on a map that could lead to nothing. We’re throwing all our eggs in one basket. That’s all I’m saying.” 

 

“So what? Do you not want to go? You want to just keep living in the forest until the Flesh Biters get here and we have to fight for our lives— _ again _ —just the three of us?” 

 

“No,” said James in a small voice. He kicked at one of the stones that surrounded the firepit. “No, we’ll go, of course we’ll go. I just don’t think I can handle any more disappointment if this turns out to be another fucking dead end.”

 

Sirius knew what he meant. Not two weeks prior they came across yet another promised safe house that was overrun. They escaped, but not without a whole new wealth of scars. James got his ankle caught and twisted in a wire fence, and necessitated they stay stationary in the woods, as they tried to nurse him back to health. It was only over the past few days that the swelling went down and remained down with weight pressed on it, and he was finally able to walk without a noticeable limp.

 

There was, after all, no point in even trying to travel if you weren’t able to run. 

 

“It won’t be a dead end,” said Sirius with more certainty than he felt. “We’ll meet the other Heartbeaters. We’ll be able to help each other—we’re not going to be alone anymore. Maybe they’ll even have medicine.” 

 

He said the last bit pointedly, and James sighed. The medicine issue was pressing. Peter developed a cough over the past weekend, which he insisted was nothing, but was getting progressively worse with each passing day. The pharmacies were the first places to be raided. The trio had a few tablets of cough medicine and antihistamines, and a single bottle of aspirin, but the strong stuff—narcotics and antibiotics—were gone just days after civilization fell. 

 

“Pete’s asleep right now,” said James in response. “He was choking half to death when he got back from the city. It’s lucky he didn’t run into any Deadheads, ‘cause he would’ve drawn them right to him.” 

 

“We’ve got to try to get to The Burrow, man,” Sirius said softly. “We’re too wounded to be out here alone. You’re barely on your feet, Pete’s probably got pneumonia, and I can only get us so far. You know what happens to the wounded, James, you’ve seen it, just like I have.”

 

James clicked his tongue a couple of times, and ran a hand through his wild mane of natural hair. “Can you get the fire going?” he deflected. “Pete actually found a container of chicken liver, and we still have a shitton of beans.” 

 

“Delicious,” said Sirius, deadpanned, but he didn’t argue further. 

 

Within fifteen minutes he had a healthy fire raging. It was almost funny for him to think that less than a year ago he didn’t have the faintest clue on how to survive in the wild. Back then, back Before, someone could have given him an entire can of lighter fluid and an infinite supply of matches, and he still wouldn’t have been able to get a fire going longer than a few minutes. He was perversely delighted to imagine how his parents would react to seeing him like this: rips in his shirt and pants, his shoes caked in mud. He hadn’t cut his hair since all this started, and his face was covered in a constant, uneven amount of stubble he tried to manage with the dull blade of knife. He had dirt in between his cracked nails, and sweat stains on his back and under his arms. He hardly noticed anymore. He’d adapted.

 

He slid slimy chicken livers onto the longest sticks he could find, and held them over the flames as though it were an ordinary campfire cookout. He was used to his fair share of unorthodox foods. His parents forced expensive concoctions on him from a young age—fish eggs, snails swimming in butter, assortments of smelly cheeses (and yet still somehow insisted that crisps were a culinary disaster). But while he wasn’t that picky, and certainly didn’t fancy himself a connoisseur of fine dining, he never did get the taste for liver. In fact, he loathed it, and holding liver kebabs over an open fire, he found he was struck with conflicting emotions: absolute disgust, and palpable, desperate hunger, his body aching for the protein and nutrients it lacked. 

 

He let the livers sit above the fire a little too long, hoping the burnt bits would overpower the texture and flavor he abhorred. He slid them off the stick onto a used piece of aluminum foil, and sat them aside while he waited for the beans to heat up. He turned his attention to a bag of miscellaneous grocery items, and began rifling through it in search of some sort of seasoning.

 

They had salt, but a finite amount, and it was too valuable to waste on something as trivial as distaste. They had somehow amassed two cylindrical containers of cinnamon, and a partially ripped open bag of brown sugar, both of which were useless. They used to have garlic powder—which had saved many a meal since the outbreak—but it fell out of the bag during the last time they were overrun, and Peter accidentally trampled it. Too bad, James joked later as he sat over a bland and overcooked potato, that zombies weren’t deterred by garlic the way vampires were.

 

Finally, Sirius happened on a single, yellow packet of generic brand taco seasoning. He ripped it open, gave it a whiff, and sprinkled it liberally over the liver before he could think too hard about it. He grabbed the two cans of beans he sat on the edge of the fire, tossing them back and forth between his hands, hissing through his teeth as the tin on the outside of the cans were hot to the touch.

 

“Dinner’s served, you wankers,” he called, wiping his dripping forehead with the back of his hand after he’d finished bashing the cans open with a large rock. 

 

James, who was keeping watch on the south side of camp, ambled toward him, seeming a bit off-balance. Sirius frowned.

 

“Your ankle acting up?” he asked, and James shrugged.

 

“I can handle it,” he deflected, and he took a seat on a log before Sirius could argue further.

 

Peter emerged from the tent a moment later, his skin an ashy grey, and his cheeks hollow, as though he’d lost a lot of weight in a short period of time. He’d always been the pudgier of the three, carrying baby fat right up into his late teens, but now that was gone. Instead, his previously plump cheeks now sported patches of dirty blonde stubble, and dark circles surrounded his eyes.

 

“Smells alright,” he said when he approached them, his voice hoarse from all the coughing. He sat down beside James.

 

“Probably tastes awful,” Sirius admitted, trying not to look as worried as he felt, watching Peter shudder and rub his arms while he leaned forward to get closer to the warmth of the fire. “How’re you feeling?” Sirius asked, attempting nonchalance.

 

“Fine,” Peter said, his tone the exact same as James’. “I can handle it.” Sirius sighed. Instead of fighting, he turned to heap some liver and beans onto old, crusty plastic plates. He handed one to both of his friends.

 

“Enjoy,” he said in a voice that sounded more like an apology. He grimaced down at his own plate, settling down next to Peter.

 

“Blech,” said James after taking a generous bite. “The fuck did you put on these?”

 

“Taco seasoning,” Sirius said without looking up. He got a piece of liver and scooped up a heap of beans to go with it to cut the taste. He spooned it into his mouth in one bite, and he practically swallowed it all whole.

 

“It’s disgusting, mate,” James said casually, picking up another piece between two fingers, and plugging his nose before putting it in his mouth.

 

“You’re welcome to do the cooking, my dearest,” said Sirius pointedly, at which James sneered. “Then no complaining,” Sirius said to this nonverbal objection. “Besides, it doesn't’ matter how it tastes, just so long as we eat something.”

 

He could just feel his parents’ derision at such a statement, and it willed him to take another bite.

 

“Mm, I suppose,” James said. “I don’t think we’ve had any meat to eat since you came across those field mice, right?” Sirius nodded, scowling at the memory. “Yeah, well, good find then, I guess, Pete.”

 

Sirius looked to Peter, who was poking at his food with his finger, decidedly not eating it.

 

“Come on, Pete, it’s not  _ that _ bad,” said Sirius, nudging his shoulder.

 

“I know,” said Peter in his scratchy voice. “Just not hungry, is all.”

 

“You gotta eat, man,” said James with his mouth full.

 

“Yeah, you more than us,” Sirius agreed. Peter just looked down at his full plate, and Sirius thought he saw him turn a faint shade of green against the ashy grey. Sirius reached over and put a hand to Peter’s forehead. “Shit,” he muttered, glancing up at James and sharing a significant look. He took the plate out of Peter’s hands. “Here, why don’t you go lay down. I’ll bring you some water here in a minute.”

 

Peter, who didn’t so much as blink when Sirius felt his forehead or took his food, said nothing. He merely coughed into the crook of his elbow, and then nodded his assent. He stood up, teetering, and then trudged back to the tent, as though lifting his feet all the way off the ground was just too much effort to exert.

 

“How bad?” James asked as soon as Peter was out of earshot.

 

“Burning up,” said Sirius. “We should give him some of the aspirin, see if that brings it down at all.”

 

“It’s not gonna matter if he’s got some kind of infection. Aspirin won’t cut it if what he needs are antibiotics.”

 

“Hopefully it’s just a bad cold,” Sirius said, but he wouldn’t meet James’ eye. A cold is what Peter had a few days ago—what they were dealing with now was what happened when a cold went unchecked in a world where a single bottle of aspirin was all the medicine there was to treat it. Sirius knew it, and so did James.

 

“And if it’s not?” asked James morosely, and Sirius felt that pang again.

 

“Then we take him to The Burrow and hope they can help.”

 

“That’s nearly two weeks from now. Assuming whatever this is doesn’t get any worse, how do you expect to transfer him when he can’t go more than a few steps without hacking his guts out? We’d last about two seconds out there with the Flesh Biters.”

 

“Do you have a better idea?” Sirius snapped. “Should we just leave him here and let him cough himself to death?” James had the decency to look apologetic.

 

“I’m just trying to be realistic,” he said in a calmer tone. “We just need to start hypothesizing all our options and all the possible outcomes so that we’re prepared.”

 

It had been like this from the start.

 

James was rational, logical, and about ten steps ahead of every situation, always thinking of all the pros and cons to every new challenge. Sirius was the idealist, taking each day as it came, and hoping somehow it would all work out in the end. Each way of thinking had its benefits. James managed to keep them out of a lot of stupid, headfirst decisions by being able to foresee the consequences, meanwhile Sirius’ knack for spontaneous action had gotten them out of a few close calls when James froze up. The problem, of course, was that reality functioned somewhere in between their polarizing personalities, and this wasn’t a reality that provided a lot of leeway for butting heads and arguments. They needed someone to balance them. Peter was no good; he always went along with whoever sounded the most stern at the moment.

 

“We’ll give him the aspirin, and see where we’re at tomorrow,” Sirius said definitively. James chewed on the inside of his cheek, and Sirius could see a million different scenarios going through his head of how ‘waiting until tomorrow’ could go horribly wrong, but to James’ credit, he kept them to himself.

 

“We’ll figure something out,” Sirius said, and while he knew they were just empty words to James if he couldn’t provide any evidence to back it, he felt the words were more for his own benefit anyhow. “We’re going to be okay.”

 

James, he realized, wasn’t even paying attention. He was looking over Sirius’ shoulder, suddenly alert, lifting his head up like a deer listening for an approaching predator. Sirius turned to see what James was eyeing, finding his gaze fixed on the trodden on grass leading into the woods.

 

“What is it?” Sirius whispered, but James held up his hand, silencing him. Sirius stiffened, holding his breath while he listened intently for any sounds. 

 

_ SNAP! _

 

A twig along the treeline snapped under the weight of something. Sirius and James exchanged a glance. Wordlessly, Sirius reached down and pulled out the sharp knife he kept on the side of his boot, while James took his handmade bow off his shoulder, and armed it with an arrow.  

 

James gestured to the right side of the pathway, and then at himself, and Sirius took it to mean James wanted them to split up and take either side to better their chances at overpowering whatever was lurking behind the shadows of the trees. It was a common strategy of theirs; hadn’t died yet. Sirius nodded, and began to creep towards the left while James went right. 

 

It was dim out. Night hadn’t yet fallen, but dusk was in full force, and Sirius squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He had long since mastered the art of the sneak attack. Without even thinking about it, he maneuvered through the grass, avoiding twigs and rocks and anything else that had the potential to give away his position. He gripped his knife in a tight fist, and held it out in front of himself as he approached the treeline. He watched for signs of movement, as James, just a short distance away, did the same. 

 

He saw nothing. He glanced at James, who nodded, raising his bow and arrow. Sirius took the cue, and, like ripping off a bandaid, moved a large, low-hanging branch, and poised his knife, ready to stab anything that was revealed behind the leaves. 

 

There was nobody, but still, there was something. Sirius lowered his knife to his side, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

 

Instead of coming face to face with one of the flesh eaters, the duo happened upon what appeared to be a gift basket. Of sorts.

 

It was a small, clear, plastic tote, filled with a variety of items. From what Sirius could make out, there seemed to be a few cans of mandarin oranges, a first aid kit, some juice boxes, and an umbrella. If there was anything else, it was too dark to tell. He looked up at James, who seemed just as lost as he was. 

 

“What the fuck?” James mouthed, and Sirius shrugged. He inched closer to that James could hear him whisper.

 

“Was it left here deliberately?” he asked as loudly as he dared. Now it was James who shrugged.

 

“I mean, it’s right next to the pathway we go in and out of every day,” he whispered back. “There’s no way we wouldn’t see it. You didn’t come across it earlier when you gathered firewood, right?”

 

“Right. Someone would’ve had to put it here within the last couple hours.” 

 

“Then they can’t be far off, can they?” 

 

“No, I reckon they’re just inside the woods somewhere. Probably just out of sight.”

 

“So what is this, then? A peace offering? A Heartbeater had to have left this, right?”

 

“No, a Deadhead decided to lure us into the forest with a box of supplies,” said James sarcastically.

 

“Yeah yeah, alright. But why?”

 

“Maybe peace offering…Maybe trap.”

 

“You think? How would giving us supplies be a trap?”

 

“Give us a false sense of security?” James suggested. “Or maybe the box itself is rigged.”

 

They both turned to the plastic tote, eyeing it as though it were a bomb about to blow.

 

“That’s useful stuff in there,” Sirius finally pointed out, and after a moment, James nodded in agreement.

 

“Hold on,” he said. In a single, swift movement, he raised up his bow and sent an arrow flying directly at the box. It smacked against the plastic with a loud ‘thunk!’ and hit it with enough force to tip the tote onto its side. All of the contents inside it jostled around, and Sirius watched the trees anxiously, the noise seeming ten times louder than it should be.

 

“Don’t think it’s rigged,” James said once the tote settled. “I say we take it back to camp and inspect it there.” 

 

Sirius nodded and went to pick up the tote, while James retrieved his arrow. The tote was light—he was able to carry it under one arm with ease. The two of them hurried out of the forest. They sat by the light of the fire, the mysterious gift basket between them.

 

After a silent game of “you open it,” “no, you open it,” James reached over and popped off the lid. He began removing items one by one.

 

In addition to the oranges, first aid kit, juice boxes, and the umbrella, there were a couple travel sized, wind-up flashlights, a pack of gum, a roll of toilet paper, and single bottle of hand sanitizer. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to the contents—it was as though someone collected a random assortment of materials and threw them together. 

 

“Alright, I don’t get it,” James said, looking over their newly attained loot. Sirius shook his head, just as lost. 

 

“None of this is valuable enough to fight over,” he said. “I mean, we can definitely use it, but if someone were trying to trick us into giving our trust, or lure us into the woods, or something, this isn’t really good enough to outweigh the risk.”

 

“I agree,” said James. “To me it feels more like someone had some stuff they didn’t want, knew we were here, and thought we might want it.”

 

“That means there are some other Heartbeaters out there keeping tabs on us. That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

 

“If they didn’t want to come to us directly, I’d say they’re just as intimidated by us as we are of the idea of them,” said James logically. Sirius wasn’t so sure; something about this peculiar gift didn’t sit well with him. He reached over and snatched up the tote bag that contained all their medicines. He put the first aid kit in it, and fished out the bottle of aspirin.

 

“Here,” he said, shaking two powdery pills into James’ palm. “Go give these to Peter—make sure he drinks enough water—and then get some rest.”

 

“What are you going to do?” James asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“Gonna keep watch.”

 

“It’s my turn for the night shift,” James reminded him, but Sirius shook his head.

 

“I’m not tired,” he said, his stomach churning with adrenaline at the thought of an indeterminate amount of Living watching their campground from behind the trees. At James’ skeptical look he insisted, “I’ll wake you if I need a break.”

 

James, though clearly unconvinced, merely shrugged. “Fine,” he said, getting to his feet, picking up a bottle of water. “But don’t wear yourself too thin. You need rest too.”

 

“Let me know if Peter gets worse,” was all Sirius said in response. James nodded, and headed to their tent, the slightest limp in his step.

 

—-

 

Sirius had developed a newfound appreciation for what darkness meant. 

 

When he was seven years old, his mother came into his room one night at bedtime, and removed the nightlight plugged in beside his closet door. “You’re too old to be afraid of a silly thing like the dark,” she said to his protests. “Blacks don’t have petty fears.” And so, through a week of nearly sleepless nights, Sirius forced himself to believe that there was nothing lurking under his bed waiting to get him once the lights went out.

 

But this was different. The darkness that weighed down around the campsite was suffocating. At least the seven year old in the dark bedroom had the luxury of a bedside lamp, and hallway lights filtering in from underneath the door frame. Out here, the only light he had were the stars peeking through between thin layers of clouds, and the full moon that had risen to the very top of the sky. Keeping a fire going at nighttime was unwise—an unnecessary risk to take, as the smoke and flames could easily lure Deadheads towards them. And out here, on the brink of the dense forest, Sirius could not tell himself there was no danger lurking in the shadows. Unlike the pretend monsters in his childhood bedroom, the dangers out past the treeline were painfully real. 

 

He held a flashlight in his lap, but didn’t dare turn it on. He sat, still as a statue, listening for any movement, and tensing at every rustle of leaves in the wind.

 

Sirius did not like being afraid. Blacks, he reminded himself as a breeze went by, did not have petty fears.

 

But these fears weren’t petty.

 

During the day, it was easy for him to occupy himself with tasks—to intentionally bury all the images seared into his mind that he was always trying to forget. But nighttime watches, where his only tasks were to sit and wait and listen, he couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay.

 

The infection started in the early hours of the morning, and at the time there was only confusion; a few scattered cases and quarantines, the news claiming it had been contained. By sunset, it had spread all across England, bleeding over into the rest of Great Britain, and there was mass panic. Before the telecommunications were cut, the final broadcast was just a message set on repeat on every television set, radio broadcast, and news website:  _ Save Yourself _ . 

 

He had gone back. 

 

He’d left Grimmauld Place when he was still a teenager, taken in by the Potters, and never once thought about returning. Both Mr. and Mrs. Potter had passed about a year apart from each other, and he, James, and Peter rented a decent flat in the city, living modestly off of the Potter’s fortune, and an inheritance Sirius got from his Uncle Alphard, who pity-wrote him into his will. 

 

They were lucky to escape the city unscathed. It was James’ forethought that saved them. “We have to get away from any crowds,” he said before anyone even knew how big it was going to become. “If just one person gets infected, it’s going to spread like wildfire.” Peter wanted to stay and hide, and Sirius still wasn’t convinced that the CDC wasn’t going to get it under control, but James was relentless. 

 

They heard on the radio, not five hours after they drove Peter’s car as far out into the country as they could get, that the city—every corner of it—had fallen.

 

That’s when Sirius made them return to Grimmauld Place. 

 

They fought about it. The Ancient House of Black was protected with high walls, the best security systems money could buy, and guards at every entrance; if any place was going to stay protected, it was that dark, looming mansion that was terrifying enough without adding living dead into the mix. Besides, James callously pointed out, even the apocalypse wouldn’t be enough to convince Walburga Black that blood was thicker than water. 

 

And it wasn’t that Sirius disagreed: More than likely, the horrid woman would throw her eldest son at a pack of Deadheads if it meant it would save herself. But with the Potters six feet under, the Pettigrews retired in Scotland with no way to get ahold of them, and Sirius’ inherent need to make sure his little brother was safe, the mantra, “family is family,” won out in the end. They took the backroads, and arrived mid-afternoon the next day.

 

“Bloodbath” didn’t do the scene justice. 

 

The best Sirius could figure, when he tried to rationalize it out later, was that the guards were met with a pack of Flesh Eaters, and in their attempt to get inside to safety, were bitten before they could relock the gates. 

 

The lefthand side of the hallway entrance was splattered and dripping with blood, leading down to the limp body of the doorman the Blacks had employed since before Sirius was born. His body was slumped against the wall, his head slack against his shoulder, a definitive gun wound oozing from his forehead, which started near his temple, and went out through the back of his skull. 

 

The bodies were like a candy trail, some of them people Sirius recognized— their cook, and his former tutor—and some of them strangers from the pack that overran the house. They found his father at the base of the stairs, a gunshot through the skull like the rest, and a large chunk missing from his right arm in the form of a giant bite mark, the white carpet around him saturated in brownish-red.

 

Armed with an umbrella from the stand by the door, a steak knife from the kitchen, and a shard of broken glass from the mirror above the fireplace, they crept up the stairs. The long corridor was deserted, the only signs of disruption coming from the framed pictures along the wall that were either crooked, or shattered on the floor, and a line of smeared blood, as though someone had been dragged across the ground. The many rooms were all shut. Sirius tried each of them, and found they were all locked. Finally, they reached the end, where Regulus’ room was located, and they found the door wide open.

 

Walburga Black was sprawled across the rug, her hands outstretched towards the closet door, the mahogany scratched and indented at the base. Closer examination of Mrs. Black’s fingers would find her fingernails scraped down to the quick, jagged and bloody. She was in a silk nightgown, which was torn around the midsection, where her flesh had been gnawed and ripped apart; one could fit a fist in the biggest of the holes in her abdomen. A long, splintered piece of wood, looking like it had been broken off from one of the dining room chairs, was sticking out from her right eye, driven right into her brain. 

 

Sirius couldn’t look away. Years of yelling, smacking, and just general abuse—and now here his mother lay, awash in a still and gruesome death. He felt cold; numb from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. He hardly noticed as James stepped over Mrs. Black’s corpse, raised his glass shard, and threw the closet door open. 

 

He was jolted out of his shock when he heard the scream. His head snapped up away from his mother’s uninjured eye—open and emptily staring—and instead saw his cousin Bellatrix cowering, and arm thrown across a young boy with Sirius’ eyes. Regulus was sunk in the very corner of the closet, flushed and shaking, coated in flecks of blood Sirius doubted was his. 

 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Bellatrix snapped, not moving out of her protective stance, as though Sirius’ mere presence could harm Regulus irreparably; as though there weren’t bigger dangers lurking just outside the walls of Grimmauld Place.

 

“What happened?” Sirius croaked when he found his voice. He didn’t acknowledge Bellatrix, he was looking directly at Regulus. “How’d they get in? What happened to…?” he glanced down at the body at his feet.

 

“What do you think happened?” Bellatrix spit, getting to her feet. Regulus didn’t move. “They got inside; infected nearly everybody. Regulus is lucky I’m an excellent shot.” She stepped out of the closet and cast a disgusted face down at Mrs. Black. “This was his handy work, however. We were out of bullets. Auntie cornered us in here; was clawing at the door like a damned wild animal. Reg open the door a smidge, and just...” Bellatrix mimed a jabbing motion. “He insisted we stay in here until we were sure there was nothing else in the house. I kept telling him that was just inviting more to come find us, but was absolutely petrified. It was too pathetic. I couldn’t get him to move.”

 

Sirius watched his brother, who refused to meet his eye. He was staring at the body of Walburga Black with the same detached numbness Sirius felt. Bellatrix continued to ramble, “I suppose that if  _ you _ managed to get in here, that the coast is clear?”

 

“Yeah,” James spoke up when he realized Sirius wasn’t listening. “It’ll be cramped, but there should be enough room in our car for both of you.”

 

“Ha!” Bellatrix exclaimed. “Yeah, because we’re putting our lives in  _ your _ hands. We’d be better off just offing ourselves right here and now. We’ll fend for ourselves, thanks.”

 

“Suit yourself,” said James with a scowl, but Sirius muttered,

 

“Reg?”

 

Regulus glanced up at his brother. Already young, he seemed almost like a child with his wide, frightened eyes. “Come with us,” Sirius said.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Bellatrix answered for him. “He’s coming with me. Can you imagine Auntie’s reaction if I let him go off with you?”

 

“I don’t think Auntie has much of an opinion on anything anymore,” Sirius said darkly, and Bellatrix smirked.

 

“Always with the smart remarks,” she said. “You never change.”

 

“Listen,” James piped up. “I’d love to stand around and have this charming family reunion, but—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—Bellatrix is right. More of those things could come find this house any time now. We’re completely unprotected, and it’s way too easy to get cornered in here. I don’t fancy getting killed here.” 

 

“I quite agree,” said Bellatrix snottily. “Dying with people like…” she pointedly looked James’ dark skinned body up and down. “Well, I’m just saying, there are more dignified ways to die.” 

 

“I forgot why I liked you so much,” James replied with a smile. 

 

“Can we go?” Peter asked, fidgeting with his hands. 

 

“Yeah, we can,” Sirius said. He nodded at Regulus. “Come on,” he said to him. Regulus, wide eyed and nervous, looked between Sirius and Bellatrix and back again.

 

“Regulus, don’t you even think it,” said Bellatrix sharply. “Come now. We’ll go to Cissy’s. Remember she’s moved out with the Malfoy boy out in the countryside? It’ll be safe there.”

 

“And if her place is overrun, too?” Sirius snapped. “Then what?”

 

“Then at least we’ll still be doing what Auntie would have wanted,” Bellatrix snapped right back.

 

Regulus glanced back again at the greying body of their mother. Dark patches were beginning to show up on the undersides of her arms and legs where blood was beginning to pool. Sirius watched his brother take a deep breath as he willed himself to his feet. 

 

He said exactly two words to his brother: “I’m sorry.” He then took Bellatrix’s outstretched hand, grimacing as his foot gently scraped across their mother’s back. 

 

James let them wait there long enough for Bellatrix and Regulus to get far enough away that they wouldn’t run into each other, and then forced Sirius to step away from his rooted spot in his little brother’s bedroom. The peeled away from Grimmauld Place, and this time Sirius knew he was it was for good. 

 

They hadn’t crossed paths with Regulus since then, although Sirius was  _ always _ looking. But for all he knew, his brother was long dead—or worse, turned, wandering around with a limp, decayed body, perpetually hunting, and never resting.

 

Sirius shivered, and it had nothing to do with the wind rustling the leaves. 

 

In fact, there was no wind. The air was perfectly still, and yet, he distinctly heard the sound of leaves and twigs brushing together. He snapped out of his thoughts, tensing in the shoulders, hand gripping his knife instinctively. He tilted his head toward the forest, listening. He’d learned to tell the small differences between similar sounds. He knew when something was an animal, or something worse. He heard branches snap underneath the weight of trampling feet, and he stood from his watching point. His eyes, although adjusted to the dark, still weren’t good enough to make out any shapes along the treeline. The trampling feet picked up speed, and his heartbeat followed suit, adrenaline building in his gut. He poised with his knife, and debated turning on his flashlight.

 

He moved away, adjacent to the tent behind him, so that if he drew anything near him, it wouldn’t run directly to where Peter and James slept. He drew in a breath, flipped on his flashlight, and shined it towards the forest.

 

At first there wasn’t anything. But then, breaking through the thick of the trees, a human shape emerged. It turned towards the light, and began running towards him. Sirius stood up straighter, planting his feet shoulder width apart; his fighting stance.

 

It didn’t take him long to realize that whoever was running at him wasn’t a Deadhead. Its movements were too coordinated. Sirius had never seen a Deadhead run faster than a speed-walking-limp. Still, Sirius didn’t dare drop his guard. If anything, he grew only more suspicious. Why would a Heartbeater be running at him in the dead of night? He held onto his knife so tightly his knuckles ached.

 

When the stranger was still several meters away, it began yelling at him. It took Sirius a minute to gather his bearings and listen. When he did, he heard, “they’re coming, they’re coming!” in a young, male voice. 

 

The stranger grew closer, and Sirius realized it was a thin man, his face veiled, and his head covered by the hood of his jacket. He held out his hand, and it was gloved. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “But you’ve got to listen to me. A whole pack of them are coming, and I know you and your friends aren’t strong enough to take them all on.”

 

“How do you know—” Sirius started, but the stranger shook his head.

 

“Don’t worry about that now. I’m trying to help you, let’s focus on that, and get you safe, we don’t have much time.”

 

Sirius eyed the man. He could vaguely see his face from under the veil he wore to cover it, but he could make out no features. On his back, the stranger had a machete slung across it. Sirius made a split second decision. 

 

“Okay,” he said. “How many.”

 

“At least a dozen,” said the stranger, tugging on Sirius’ sleeve and leading him hurriedly toward the tent. “Probably more, I didn’t get a good count.” They got to the tent, and before Sirius could do anything, the stranger yanked at the zipper and yelled inside, “up! Get up! You’re about to get overrun!” 

 

Sirius shined the light into the tent, where James was already awake and alert. He quickly got to his feet, but stalled when he saw the stranger. 

 

“Don’t worry about who I am,” said the stranger. “We can talk about that all you want once we get rid of the Flesh Eaters, alright?”

 

James, after sharing the briefest of glances with his friend, seemed to come to the same conclusion as Sirius. He nodded, and then reached down to shake Peter. Peter opened his eyes, blinking blearily, seeming dazed.

 

“Wahshappenin’?” he mumbled. Beads of sweat were formed along his hairline, and his eyes kept rolling back into his head, as though he couldn’t focus. James frowned and placed a hand on Peter’s forehead. He glanced back up, looking morose. 

 

“We aren’t going to be able to move him,” James informed Sirius and the stranger. “At least not quickly enough to get away from a pack of Deadheads.” 

 

“Then we’re going to have to fight them off,” said the stranger decidedly. He whipped the machete off his back expertly, and turned and headed back towards the forest. He glanced over his shoulder. “Make sure to stand behind me,” he said. “And don’t you  _ dare _ use guns if you have them. The last thing we need is to draw more of them to us.”

 

“This isn’t our first time, you know,” Sirius said somewhat defensively, tossing James his bow. The stranger ignored him.

 

“They were following the route I came from,” he said instead. “You hear that?” He nodded towards the trees. Sirius listened, and heard the distinctive sound of mild moaning, and branches snapping. “They’re just ahead,” the stranger said, holding the machete out in front of him in his gloved hand. “Get ready.”

 

Sirius, taken aback by the authority the stranger seemed entitled to, had a strong, rebellious urge to storm the treeline, but James, perhaps sensing this, pointed to a place behind the stranger, and said, “you take that side, and I’ll go over here.” 

 

Relenting, Sirius took his position. He glanced up at the stranger, who wasn’t moving a muscle, staring at the forest. “Who are you?” Sirius called.

 

“Later,” said the stranger.

 

“Can we at least have your name?” Sirius asked. 

 

The stranger said nothing for several seconds, and Sirius thought he either didn’t hear him, or was ignoring him, but then he muttered, “Remus. My name’s Remus.”

 

“I’m Sirius. That’s James.”

 

The stranger—Remus—nodded. “I know,” he said, and before Sirius could ask how in Hell he knew that, he called out, “I see them, they’re breaking the treeline. Do  _ not _ go ahead of me, and James, you stay behind Sirius. Don’t press your luck with your ankle, got it? Use your bow, stay at a distance.”

 

“How did you—” Sirius started, while James furrowed his brow, but Remus cut them off.

 

“ _ Later _ ,” he hissed, and that was the last any of them got in before the Deadheads stumbled out from the forest. 

 

They always looked different, the bodies in varying states of mutilation. They all shared a handful of physical features: Grey skin, for one. All the Deadheads were the color of cigarette ash, with a waxy texture to their skin. Their eyes were also similar, with a white, milky cloudiness. 

 

But what they looked like beyond that depended on how much damage their body had suffered at the time of infection, and how torn apart they had become since they turned. Deadheads never healed. The pack that ambled towards them was full of bodies that were missing large chunks of flesh, and had limbs hanging from their sockets. One of them was missing all the skin along the left side of its jaw, revealing rows of rotten teeth. All of them had small nicks along their exposed body parts from walking through the trees. They wore tattered clothing, which was matted in dirt and grit, and torn into rags. They limped forward, all unused muscles slack, their mouths hanging open and heads lolling at the sides.

 

The one at the front of the pack got close enough to Remus that he was able to take off his head with one fell swipe of his machete. Its head tumbled into the grass, still blinking and moving its jaw lazily open and shut. 

 

Without so much of a glance, Remus slammed the blade of his machete into its skull, making the killshot into the brain.

 

Sirius watched the rest of the pack, waiting for them to all turn onto Remus, but to his surprise, they ignored him entirely. Not a single one of the Deadheads paid Remus any mind. They walked right within bite range of him, but didn’t even look his direction. Remus, apparently not surprised by this reaction, took out as many as he could, swinging his machete in a controlled, expert way, but soon was overrun. 

 

A herd of them clambered past him, their gazes fixed on Sirius and James.

 

James shot a arrow directly into the forehead of the one closest to him, and the rest of the Deadheads turned and started towards him, their deep, growling groans growing louder. Sirius, seizing the opportunity of being off their radar, came up behind a pack of three, and stabbed each of them in quick succession in the soft spot at the back of their skulls. They fell like bricks.

 

“Fuck!” James said suddenly. 

 

He was backing away, arrow aimed, but tripped over his own lame ankle, and toppled over, losing aim, giving the Deadhead the opportunity to get close to him. James kicked at it, but it drew closer, grabbing him from behind his knee and pulling him towards him. 

 

Sirius tried to get to him, but was cut off by another Deadhead, which latched onto his him arm, and nearly took a chunk out of it, but Sirius—with heightened reflexes—jammed his knife into its temple. He tugged his knife out with a wet, slurping sound, and turned back to James, but Remus already reached him, having taken down all of the Deadheads that had been surrounding him.

 

Remus grabbed the Deadhead around the neck, and tugged it off of James, who was flailing on the ground, trying to push himself free. The Deadhead struggled in Remus’ arms, biting at his sleeves, but Remus wasn’t bothered. His machete dropped a short ways away, Remus reached down, Deadhead still in his grasp, and picked up a large rock.

 

He slammed it into the side of the Deadhead’s skull, over and over, until its head was concave. He let it slump down out of his arms, and he walked up to James and held out a hand to help him up, but James did not take it. Instead, he stared up at Remus, eyes wide. 

 

“What is it?” Sirius asked, approaching them. Remus turned to look at him, and Sirius stopped in his tracks.

 

Remus reached up to his face, and, realizing that in the midst of his struggle with the Deadhead his veil had been pulled partially off, revealing most of his face, he froze. Quickly, he said, “it’s not what it looks like,” but Sirius had already stiffened, and raised his knife back up in fighting position.

 

“What the fuck?” Sirius said quietly. “What the fuck are you?” In his periphery, James was scrambling to his feet, and arming his bow, aiming it right at Remus’ head.

 

“I promise I can explain,” Remus said, reaching up and pulling off his hood and the rest of his veil.

 

“Start talking now, dude,” James said with a terrifying edge to his voice. Sirius just stared.

  
Remus was perfectly ordinary looking, with loose, curly hair, and a lanky, somewhat awkward disposition. He would have been utterly unremarkable, if it weren’t for the grey ash color of his skin, and the milky white irises of his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remus' backstory, zombie puns, and lots of threats and banter
> 
> cw warning for a very brief and vague mention of suicide

“First things first,” said Remus in a calculated tone. “You can put those weapons down.”

 

“Not a chance,” said James, while Sirius held his knife a little straighter.

 

“I said I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Remus said, looking at Sirius. “I meant it.”

 

“You’re a zombie,” said Sirius bluntly, and Remus rolled his eyes.

 

“I prefer ‘living-impaired,’” he said sarcastically. He then grinned, but the other two weren’t impressed. “Yeah, okay, too soon for jokes, I guess,” he relented. “Ask your questions, then. Blow out my brain. Do whatever.” 

 

Sirius didn’t know where to begin. Did he start with the fact that Remus was a Deadhead with the brain of a living, breathing human being? Did he ask about how Remus seemed to know everything about them? Part of him even wanted to know where Remus managed to get a machete. Conflicted, Sirius said nothing.

 

“How?” James asked finally. It was succinct and to the point, and Sirius felt it covered all the bases, so he nodded in agreement.  _ Yeah _ , he said with his facial expression,  _ how _ ?

 

“Let’s just say,” said Remus slowly. “There’s a lot about this epidemic that you don’t know.”

 

“Then enlighten us,” said James without missing a beat. “Give us all the details, show us scientific studies if you have to, but I’m not putting this bow down until I understand absolutely everything, is that clear?”

 

“So you’re saying my life is on the line of I don’t comply? Or, well, maybe not my  _ life _ so much…” Remus gave a small, hopeful smile, which was immediately shot down by James’ no-nonsense stare. “No, nothing? Still too soon? Alright.” Remus drew in a deep breath and let it out in a dramatic sigh, and it was in that moment that Sirius realized that Remus only breathed voluntarily; his chest went still as soon as the air left his lungs, and it remained that way. 

 

“Are you actually dead?” Sirius heard himself asking before he could stop himself. Remus grinned a little at him and shrugged.

 

“Depends on your definition, I s’pose,” he said. “I mean, on the one hand, I can walk and talk just fine, and those are things living people do, right? But on the other hand, I also don’t have a heartbeat anymore. Well, unless…” He put a hand to his chest and made an exaggerated look of concentration. “Yeah, nope, still gone.” 

 

“Would you stop fucking around and just give us a straight answer?” James grunted.

 

“Might as well,” Remus mumbled. “You bunch are a dead crowd anyway.” He laughed, and added, “get it? Because I’m the one who’s—”

 

“We get it,” said James flatly. 

 

Sirius, realizing there was the distinct possibility James was going to shoot an arrow through Remus’ brain simply out of annoyance, butted in with, “so you’re a walking, talking Deadhead. How is that possible? How did it happen?”

 

Remus regarded Sirius for a moment before finally conceding. “I was bitten, just like the rest of them. Nice big chunk taken right out of my neck, see?” He pulled down his high collar and revealed a throbbing, leaking wound in the shape of teeth marks. 

 

Sirius had seen this before. The mark of a Flesh Eater always seemed more alive than the rest of one. The marks never healed, but they never resembled the decayed, grey skin that encompassed the rest of their bodies either. The wounds festered, a sickly green and dark red color that discharged a brownish fluid. 

 

“Why didn’t you turn, then?” asked James.

 

“Well, clearly, I did,” Remus said with a gesture at his cold, ashy body. “Just...not as severely. I’m not sure how much you two know about the process, but I got all the usual symptoms. Started with a temperature drop—never been so cold in my life—then came organ shut down. That shit fucking hurt. It was like I could feel my insides dying, but instead of dying with them, I was fully conscious of it. Eventually I stopped feeling pain entirely, and then I kept waiting, you know, to stop feeling like myself. Like, my body was beyond fucked, but even when I started losing sensation, even when I no longer looked like myself, I still  _ felt _ like me, if that makes sense? There was never a moment where I was like, ‘welp, time to go out and eat people,’ or whatever. I mean, I feel hunger still, but I tried food and I just threw it all back up, so, I dunno, I just ignore it now. It’s not overwhelming—it’s easy to suppress. I figure that’s probably a symptom? That there’s only one thing that can  _ truly _ satiate me.” He cupped his mouth and stage whispered, “ _ human flesh _ .”

 

Sirius wasn’t exactly comforted to hear that Remus had a persistent craving for human flesh, but James remained expressionless, so he did too. 

 

“Why aren’t you like the rest of them, then? What makes you different?” James asked, and Remus shrugged.

 

“Best I can figure is that this—whatever the fuck  _ this _ even is—is some kind of virus, and I didn’t react as severely as some people. Like how some people get the flu and are over it in a day, and some people die from it? I think it’s like that. But fuck if I know why I’m one of the ones who didn’t turn completely. Before the outbreak I was just some loner studying literature at Uni. I don’t fancy myself a scientist. But then, even the scientists don’t know what to make of this, so who the fuck knows?”

 

“What do you mean ‘one of the ones?’” asked James sharply. “Do you mean there are other Deadheads out there that are like you?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard rumors of groups of them living underground, trying to avoid the Living. They seem to think if they’re discovered they’ll be murdered on sight.” Remus gave a pointed look at the arrow James still had aimed directly at his head, but James wasn’t moved. “I haven’t fucked with them, though, nor have I wanted to. I prefer to go it alone. Seems safer.”

 

“If you’ve never actually seen them, then how are you sure you’re not just some sort of...I don’t know, anomaly?” 

 

“Like a zombie messiah?” asked Remus with a smirk. “Nah, trust me, I know for certain I’m not the only one.”

 

“How?” asked James.

 

“Because,” said Remus simply. “The guy who bit me was one.” 

 

James seemed at a loss at what to say to this, but Sirius managed to find his voice. “You mean,” he asked incredulously. “You were bitten by a Deadhead who was...self-aware?” 

 

“Yup,” said Remus with a humorless smile. Sirius and James’ silence pressed him to continue. “Ugh, yeah, alright, here’s the story. My dad, he worked for the government, and he was constantly butting heads with this high-up official named Fenrir Greyback. Greyback was like that type of guy who was all bureaucracy and business on the outside, but was always doing super shady under-the-table deals and shit. 

 

“Now, my dad, even if he was a bit thick sometimes, was nothing if not a stickler for rules and ethics. Why he decided to work with a bunch of politicians is beyond me, but the point is that he ended up saying some pretty nasty, if not well-deserved, things about Greyback. Publicly, of course. Which made Mr. Greyback very unhappy indeed. He carried a grudge the size of Great Britain for my dad.

 

“So, this outbreak happens, right? And we lived in this small cottage out on a few acres of land, and while it was shitty, because we were poor as hell, it actually was surprisingly safe, since it was out in bumfuck nowhere. The land was cheap because the soil was like, ninety percent clay, and nothing ever grew, so my parents were the only people stupid enough to live there. I lived with them, because it was cheaper, and just drove the eight million hours it took to commute to the city every day for school and work.

 

“We were safe for nearly a month. My mum’s mum lived through World War II, and instilled in my mum this intense need to horde survival supplies in case of a nuclear attack. We always made fun of her for it, but as it so happens, survival supplies for a nuclear attack also comes in handy during a zombie apocalypse. Who knew, right? But we had a cellar full of canned goods, and MREs from my grandpa’s time in the service, and plenty of water, candles, blankets, and whatever, so even when all the communication went out, we felt pretty secure.” Remus sort of smiled to himself. “I think it was probably the only time we were actually living in higher means than most.

 

“Of course,” he continued with a an exaggerated sigh. “All good things must come to an end. See, here’s the thing about a self-aware Flesh Biter: if they’re vicious? They can gang up on their victims without all the loud, clumsy limp dragging bullshit the other Flesh Biters have. And if they were already smart and conniving when they were alive? You’re basically fucked.

 

“We had no idea, just like you didn’t, that there were Deadheads out there that could rationalize and plan. We had rigged up the fence surrounding our house so that if anything knocked into it we’d hear it, and would have time to to hide, or prepare to fight, or whatever. But we had set up the trap in such a way as to catch a Flesh Biter basically dragging itself through it. The trap was easily bypassed by anyone with any sort of cause-and-effect sort of reasoning, which...I’m sure you see where this story is going.”

 

“Greyback broke through your fence?” asked Sirius.

 

“He infiltrated our land without causing a single hair on our necks to rise. He broke in at night. Right through my window. The broken glass woke up my parents, but Greyback’s actions were calculated. He wanted my parents—my dad—to watch as he bit me. It was so quick. I was barely even aware of what was happening. One second I was passed out in bed, the next I was in some guy’s arms, trying to get away as my parents stared blankly in the doorway. And before they could do a damn thing, he was breaking the skin on my neck, looked up at my dad, said, ‘we’re even now, Lupin,’ and was out the window again like he hadn’t even been there to begin with.” 

 

“Why did he only attack you?” Sirius asked, but James answered for Remus.

 

“So that your parents would have to kill you,” he said, regarding Remus carefully. “It would be one thing to turn your whole family, but to just bite your kid and then leave it up to you to decide whether or not you let them live as a Flesh Biter, or put a bullet in their brain…” 

 

“Sick fucker, right?” said Remus. “My parents did the best they could. We’d been cut off from society for weeks at that point. We had no idea if the CDC had come up with anything, or if there was even anyone else out there left alive, but they decided to try—against my wishes, mind you—to drive to the city and see if there was anyone who could help.”

 

“What happened then?” asked Sirius, and Remus avoided his eye as he said,

 

“Let’s just say that the virus affected them just fine.” 

 

Sirius cast a look at the ground, and after a beat, James finally lowered his weapon. Sirius hesitated, and then put his knife back on its holster the side of his boot.

 

“You still haven’t said,” he piped up a moment later. “How did you know who we are? And why’d you warn us about the pack?” 

 

Remus shrugged. “I’ve been in these woods for ages,” he said. “They’re dense enough that I’m never seen, but close enough to the city that I can still get information about what’s going on outside. Living come and go. Sometimes they’re just passing through, and I just listen in to try and hear if anything new’s been happening, and sometimes,” he nodded at Sirius and James, “they set up camp, and I learn all about them.”

 

“You’ve been eavesdropping on us?” asked Sirius somewhat indignantly, but Remus just laughed.

 

“If you were all on your own, exiled from what remains of normal society, you’d do the same damn thing. And lucky for you that I do, by the way, or else you would have been Deadhead dinner tonight.” 

 

Sirius, aware that they were still surrounded by the bodies of mauled Flesh Biters, had to concede this point. 

 

“You’re the one who gave us the tote,” said James. “With all the supplies in it.”

 

“Uh, yeah, that,” Remus said, absently scratching at a spot on his elbow, and Sirius had the absurd desire to ask if Remus could still feel itchiness. “There was another group, few kilometers from here, that I’d been listening in on every now and again; some couple, I dunno. But, uh, they went to make a supply run to the city a few days ago, but the dude came back alone. I could guess what happened; would rather not. Anyway, the short of it is, he didn’t want to live without her, I guess.” 

 

The box of miscellaneous items that had seemed so mysterious and interesting just a few hours prior, suddenly felt tainted. 

 

“Well, thanks for the stuff,” said James stiffly. “And for...you know, the warning; for helping us fight.” Remus nodded. 

 

“That’s the only pack I’ve seen make it this far into the woods,” he said, fiddling with the veil in his hands. “For whatever that’s worth. I dunno. Be safe, or something.” He pulled the veil back over his head and re-covered his face. He turned abruptly away from the other two and started back towards the woods.

 

“Oi!” said James, just as Sirius said, “Hey!” Remus stopped and turned around. He lifted up his veil so they could see his raised eyebrow.

 

“What?” he said. 

 

“Where are you going?” asked Sirius.

 

“Uh, back into the woods?” said Remus, gesturing at the entrance between the trees. “Were we not done here? Or, what, were you going to kill me anyway? Even after that heartfelt talk about how I was bitten in my own bedroom by a sentient zombie? That’s cold, man. You’re the ones who are supposed to have hearts.”

 

“We’re not going to kill you,” said James, although he said it as though there were a disclaimer attached. Sirius knew what he meant. He wanted to trust Remus, but he did not let his guard down easily. “But I’m not sure how I feel about you just loitering on the outskirts of our camp.”

 

“Oh sure, you guys take over  _ my _ woods, but  _ I’m _ the one who’s loitering.” Remus shook his head. “Racists.” 

 

James, looking as though all sympathy he’d had for Remus had melted away instantly, didn’t dignify this with a response. “How would you feel in our situation?” he said instead. Remus shrugged.

 

“I don’t fuck much with hypotheticals,” he said. “I like to live in the here and now, you know.”

 

Sirius, seeing James’ fingers looking like they may be itching to pick up the bow again, intervened, saying, “I think what James means is that we’d prefer it if you stayed here with us.” 

 

“So you can keep an eye on me?” Remus finished for him. “No thanks, I don’t much like being monitored. ‘Sides,” he nodded towards the tent where Peter slept in a fevered stupor. “You can’t really afford to stay in these woods much longer anyway.” 

 

Sirius was about to say that this was a decent point, they weren’t going to stay in these woods forever, when James, two steps ahead as always, said, “yeah, exactly.”

 

Remus crossed his arms. “I’m not following.” 

 

“The Deadheads,” James said. “They don’t notice you. They think you’re just one of them.”

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

“And, we need to get Peter somewhere that has medicine, as soon as possible, or else he’ll die. But we can’t move him on our own. You saw us, we couldn’t take on a single pack by ourselves. Out there we’d be, what did you call it? ‘Deadhead dinner.’”

 

“Ah, I get it,” said Remus sagely. “You want to use me as a fucking shield.”

 

“Think of it as a mutual arrangement,” James said, his tone calculated. “You come with us to get Peter to The Burrow, and we don’t stab your brains out.” 

 

Sirius winced at James’ callousness, but Remus laughed. 

 

“Please,” he said. “I’m calling that bluff right now. I’ve been watching all three of your for ages now. You lot are a lot of things, but cold-blooded murders isn’t one of them.” 

 

“There hasn’t yet been a Deadhead we’ve been too soft to kill,” said James defensively.

 

“There hasn’t yet been a Deadhead who saved your life and then told you their life story,” Remus snapped back. “Nah, you aren’t going to kill me. I knew it the second you didn’t send an arrow through my face as soon as my veil fell off. But I’ll tell you who would kill me: literally anyone who we’d run into on the way to, and at, The Burrow. You’re asking me to go on a suicide mission. I’m not interested.”

 

“You don’t know that. Sirius and I can vouch for you. You can keep your veil on. Once it’s explained, no one is going to—”

 

“You know how ridiculous you sound right now, don’t you?” interrupted Remus. “You’re telling me no one is going to want me dead if they know my story, when two seconds ago you were threatening my life. Look, I feel for you, I really do, I don’t want anyone else to die, but that  _ includes me _ . Peter has you two looking out for him; I’ve only got myself. I don’t particularly want to believe this is what the world has come to either, but we gotta face it. This is a ‘shoot now, ask questions later,’ sort of society now. Hell, they might shoot you too, just for making an alliance with a Flesh Biter. We’re better off apart.”

 

Sirius’ head ached from stress and exhaustion. Part of him wanted to say fuck it; to just let Remus go back into the woods—his life was a lot less complicated before being confronted about the ambiguity of zombies. Another part of him knew James was right. There was no way they were ever going to get Peter to The Burrow on their own. Who knew if The Burrow had medicine? Who knew if even with Remus’ help they’d be able to get there in time, or at all? But without trying, they were condemning their friend to death, and Sirius was tired of loss.

 

“Why’d you help us at all, then?” he said, rubbing his temples. “With the tote? With the pack of Flesh Biters? What was the point if you were just going to let us die?” 

 

Remus scowled. “Don’t blame me for what’s out there,” he said. “You stay here, I’ll do what I can to help you, but outside these woods is the end of my jurisdiction.”

 

“Why?” asked Sirius, suddenly indignant. “What’s so special about these woods; about the ‘life’ you’ve got here? Do you actually like sitting in a tree all by yourself? Doing nothing but eavesdropping on Living while they suffer and die around you?”

 

“Don’t get melodramatic,” Remus mumbled, but Sirius wasn’t done.

 

“No, I want to know. Is your quality of life—or whatever you want to call it—so great that you can’t give into a little risk to help save someone else’s?”

 

“You think just because I’m a Deadhead I don’t deserve to value my existence?” 

 

“No, I mean that literally everyone’s quality of life right now is fucking shit, and I haven’t come across a single person who hasn’t been willing to risk what little they have if it means saving someone they care about. And I think that’s what this is about. It’s not about you or you ‘valuing your existence’ at all. I think it’s because you’ve been alone for so long, and you’re afraid to care about anyone else because then what if you fuck up? And then they die anyway? It’s one thing to have Flesh Biter blood on your hands, but something else entirely when it’s someone you were trying to keep alive.”

 

“You don’t know shit about me,” said Remus icily. “Force me to tell you the abridged version of my life story with an arrow to my head, and you think it gives you the right to cast aspersions on me? Fuck you.” 

 

“I don’t have to know you to know how you feel. If what you say is true, if you are just some guy that got a shit situation thrown at you, then I know exactly what you’re feeling. My mum had a stake shoved through her eye socket; I’ve got no idea if my brother is even alive. We’ve made friends, and watched them get ripped apart right in front of us, ok, I  _ know _ . And if I didn’t have any connections to anyone, I wouldn’t be eager to make any new ones either. But…” he trailed off. Remus blinked at him.

 

“But what?” he asked.

 

“But, I don’t know man, if we can’t help each other and be there for each other, then the world is fucked. And I mean, irreparably fucked. We’ve lost all our humanity otherwise.”

 

“I don’t even know if I am human anymore,” said Remus simply, his voice lacking the defensive sarcasm he’d been using. Sirius was taken aback at his sudden vulnerability. 

 

“You saved our lives. That means you have a conscience, right? And compassion? Aren’t those human things?” 

 

Remus smiled a small smile. “What are you playing at? That this is some sort of ‘I think therefore I am’ bullshit?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know, man. I never said we were philosophers. And you’re right, we don’t know you. Maybe you’re gonna bite all three of us when our backs are turned, who knows? All I know is that our friend is sick, and you might be our only way of saving him.”

 

Remus chewed on his colorless, lower lip. “There are about a million and twelve ways this can go wrong,” he said. “And about a million and nine of those ways end in my death. I mean, how would you feel about it if you were in my situation?”

 

“I thought you didn’t fuck with hypotheticals,” said James, meeting Remus’ eyes. For once, Remus didn’t have a snappy retort. The three of them exchanged glances, and it was as though a silent understanding had been reached between them. Remus drew in an unnecessary breath and let it out in one of his exaggerated sighs.

 

“Whatever, fine. I guess I’ve officially reached the ‘fuck it’ level of living in the apocalypse,” he said, sounding like he was regretting every word as he said it. “It would take us nearly a week to get to The Burrow on foot. If we’re going to save your friend, we’re going to have to get there faster than that.” 

 

“What do you suggest we do, fly?” said James, but instead of being annoyed by James’ sarcasm, Remus simply smiled ear to ear.

 

“Lucky for you,” he said. “You’ve just recruited the only zombie in this woods who knows where to get a car.” 

 

—-

 

The sun was threatening to rise, a thin yellow haze peaking up from the dark, and Sirius was dead on his feet. So to speak. He sat next on a stump, knife in his lap, a Flesh Biter sitting right beside him. 

 

“You should go to sleep,” Remus said, breaking their silence. Sirius, having just had this same argument with James a couple hours prior, just grunted. 

 

He hadn’t properly slept in over twenty four hours, but he couldn’t. Peter was useless, and he wasn’t about to leave James with his bad ankle alone with Remus, who was clearly pretending not to know he was being babysat.

 

Truth be told, Sirius was so delirious with exhaustion that he’d probably be just as incompetent as the others in a fight if Remus decided he wanted to turn on him, but he didn’t say that part.

 

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already,” Remus continued. “What have I got to gain by putting off your untimely demise?”

 

“‘M just keeping watch,” mumbled Sirius, fighting to keep himself from dosing.

 

“I feel like if that were true you’d be keeping your eyes open,” said Remus, amused. Sirius, realizing his eyes had been closed for nearly a full minute, jerked backwards and scrubbed at his face with his fingers. “Give me some credit. I can hear better than you, I don’t sleep—I make a much better watchman than you do, so the only reason you’re still out here is because you don’t trust me.”

 

“Would you trust you?” Sirius asked.

 

“If I were you? Honestly? I dunno. It’s not that hard to gain my trust, but then, I’ve been living in this hellscape of a world by myself, so I don’t have that trademark hardness that all the Living people I see seem to have.” 

 

“What’s it like?”

 

“Living alone, or living as a Deadhead?”

 

“Deadhead.”

 

“Hmm,” said Remus. “I’ve never really thought of in terms of how to explain it others. Ask specific questions, that might be easier to answer. It’ll also keep you awake, which you are having trouble with again, by the way.”

 

“Oh, God damnit,” Sirius said, jolting his head back again. “Sorry. Uh, yeah, I dunno. Can you feel things? Like, physically, I mean. You said you lost sensation.”

 

“Mm, that’s a tough one, actually. I think the answer is both yes and no. Technically, I think I’ve got all of my senses, but they’re different. Like, my sense of touch is muted. I can feel when I’m touching something, or when something’s touching me, but I can’t feel textures. Everything just feels like...pressure? I guess? 

 

“Sight is about the same. Taste seems to be gone, but I’m not ruling that one out, because I have a sick feeling that my taste is highly dependent on  _ what _ I’m eating, if you get what I’m saying. Not about to try that one out, though, so don’t worry. Hearing is improved. I don’t know if that’s an infection symptom, or just that my ears weren’t as affected when I got bit, so they now are my strongest sense. Smell is...smell is the unsettling one.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Uh. Well, I can’t smell most things, except...people.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“You know how in vampire stories they always are like, ‘blah blah blah, the vampire could smell her rushing blood pulsing in her neck,’ or whatever?” Sirius nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s kinda what it’s like for me, but instead of smelling blood, I’m smelling people. Every Living has a their own distinctive smell.”

 

“Like we all smell like rib-eye steaks, or…?”

 

Remus laughed. “Nah, not exactly. I mean, I guess the smell could be like a ‘I’d eat that’ sort of thing, but it’s more complicated. I think what it is more is that every Living really  _ does _ have a unique smell, but with the way I smell now, it’s amplified like, tenfold. And it’s not like, ‘John Doe has been living in the woods and hasn’t had a proper wash in two weeks and smells like a rotten arsehole.’ It’s more like pheromones, and how people smell...fundamentally? If that makes any amount of sense?”

 

“Kind of? What do I smell like?”

 

Remus burst out laughing. “Doesn’t that question make you super uncomfortable? You’re basically asking how the Flesh Biters determine you’d make a good snack.”

 

“Well, I already know they want me as a snack. I’m curious to know what about me makes me so delectable.” Sirius winked, and Remus rolled his milky eyes.

 

“Oh jeez,” he said. “Uh, I guess you smell like…” He leaned over slightly and sniffed. Sirius laughed a little awkwardly. “Hard to put it into smells you’d recognize, but maybe sugar? Like an almost maple syrupy sort of sugar? Mixed with something else. Meat? I guess? Salty meat?”

 

“I smell like salty meat covered in maple syrup?” asked Sirius deadpanned, and Remus shrugged.

 

“Not exactly, but it’s the best I can come up with. It’s not a smell you’d be able to place easily. Like, if you went and doused a cow in salt and maple syrup, it would not be what I’m smelling right now, but I also don’t have anything better, so. Yeah. Maple syrup and salty meat.” 

 

“That’s fucking weird.”

 

“Yeah, well, is there anything about me that isn’t weird?”

 

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Good fucking point,” he said. “You’re definitely the weirdest mother fucker I’ve ever met. And my family has a lot of inbreeding, so that’s kind of a high bar.” 

 

“No, please, tell me how you  _ really _ feel,” said Remus sarcastically, but he was smiling.

 

They fell back into their silence, it feeling a little bit more companionable. Sirius took the serene moment as an opportunity to ask something completely awkward.

 

“Can I ask what happened to your parents?”

 

Remus tensed a little and glanced at him. “You can,” he said. “Dunno if I’m gonna answer.”

 

“What happened to your parents?”

 

“Why do you want to know? You know it’s not gonna be a cheerful story.”

 

“Yeah, well, no one’s stories are happy nowadays. I dunno. I’m curious. I want to know what you’ve been through. But you don’t have to tell me just because I’m being nosy. Of course you don’t.”

 

“Hm, well, quid pro quo, Clarice. You first.”

 

“Well played,” said Sirius. “Well, let’s see. The short version of a very, very long story? Boy grows up in uppity rich household with a crazy mother. Boy runs away and goes to live with best friend. Apocalypse happens. Boy returns home to make End of the World amends; finds dad with bullet in his skull, mum with stake through the eye, and finds little brother alive with evil cousin. Evil cousin steals little brother. Boy leaves with no family and never returns.”

 

Remus nodded sort of solemnly. “Boy pleads with parents to just let him put a bullet in his own brain before he turns into a monster,” he said quietly. “Parents refuse, and drive him out into the world. The world is a lot worse off than any of them could have anticipated. Boy and his parents get overrun. Deadheads ignore the already infected boy and munch on the healthy boy’s parents. Boy turns, but not all the way. Parents turn all the way. Boy takes father’s antique machete from the back of the car and slices through parents’ brains. Traumatized boy runs far, far away, never looks back, and becomes a hermit in the woods.”

 

Sirius didn’t know what to say. He settled for, “Yikes, man.” And then, “it’s really not fair that this had to happen to us. I mean, our parents and grandparents, they got wars and shit, but we got stuck with the fucking zombie apocalypse. I wish I hadn’t been alive to see this sort of bullshit.” 

 

Remus shut his eyes and smiled. “‘So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’” He opened his eyes and met Sirius’. “ _ Lord of the Rings _ ,” he said. “ _ Fellowship _ . I haven’t had a lot to do but read, sorry. I think like, seventy percent of my thoughts are just book quotes at this point. Probably going insane, but whatever. Maybe that’s for the best.” 

 

Sirius smiled also. He clicked his tongue a few times, and said, “I should probably get some sleep. I mean, we should probably all be well rested. Got a big afternoon full of carjacking from Flesh Biters coming up.”

 

“Probably a good idea,” Remus agreed. Sirius stood up. He was several steps away before he heard Remus call out, “aren’t you still afraid I might go rogue on you?” 

  
He turned around and shrugged at Remus. “A Deadhead who quotes Tolkien off the cuff?” he said solemnly. “Sorry to tell you Remus, but I don’t think you’re much of a threat. I think you might actually just be a nerd.” He then turned on his heel, accompanied toward the tent by the sound of Remus’ laughter, and was asleep before his head even touched the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *thank u for ur patience, i've been in a total writing funk lately, but here's hoping i'll pick up steam again
> 
> **this chapter isn't very action heavy, but never fear, lots of crazy zombie apocalypse shit coming up in the next installment
> 
> ***questions, comments, "i hate everything about this story and u, go fuck yourself" anon hate? visit me at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet@tumblr.com
> 
> ****go follow my internet bff queerly-sirius while you're at it
> 
> *****ty for supporting my dumb projects, ilu all


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lack of trust, a car heist, and some badass character introductions
> 
> cw for another brief suicide mention, and graphic descriptions of dead things

Sirius was awoken later that morning by the gentle sound of James screaming in his face.

 

“ _ You left the zombie alone _ ?” screeched James. 

 

“Whuhhuh?” said Sirius, blinking at the sunlight filtering through the tent fabric. 

 

“What zombie?” Peter mumbled from beside him, trying to lift his head off the ground, before plopping right back down again.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Pete,” said James with a wave of his hand. He rounded on Sirius again. “Did you honestly leave a stranger—a  _ Deadhead _ stranger—alone on watch?” When Sirius didn’t answer immediately, he added, “what would possess you to do something so stupid?”

 

“Uh,” said Sirius, sitting up and scrubbing the crust out of the corners of his eyes. “I dunno? It seemed like an okay idea at the time.”

 

“This is why we do watches in shifts,” said James in a calculated tone. “So we don’t get too exhausted and make stupid, split-second decisions, you _goddamn_ _wanker_.” He hit Sirius in the head with the rolled up sweatshirt he’d been using as a pillow.

 

“Ow, knock it off! I’m sorry, okay? Won’t do it again, I swear. So what happened? I take it he’s taken off, then? Looted us? What?”

 

“Dunno,” said James gruffly, sitting back on his heels with the sweatshirt in his lap. “Haven’t checked. I just woke up and saw you were in here, and not on watch, and—” 

 

“—and freaked out before even checking to see if there was any reason to freak out in the first place,” Sirius finished for him. He shook his head as he added, “you’re going to stroke out one of these days if you keep getting your blood pressure up over every little thing, you know that?” He crawled to the tent opening and yanked on the zipper. He stuck his head out and called, “oi, Remus!” 

 

Remus, still sitting on the stump Sirius left him on, turned and waved.

 

“G’morning, mortals,” he called back.

 

“James was sure you trashed our camp and left us here to die,” yelled Sirius, and he heard Remus laugh.

 

“Well,” he said, getting to his feet and heading toward them. “I did consider eating you in your sleep, but you lot look kinda gamey, and like you haven’t had a proper wash in a minute, so I thought better of it.”

 

Sirius cast a self-satisfied smirk back at James, who crossed his arms and scowled. 

 

“Anything out there?” asked James, feigning ‘business as usual’ to cover his misjudgment, as Sirius moved aside and let Remus climb into the increasingly cramped tent. 

 

“Forest is pretty dead,” Remus said. “Well, I mean, dead as in—”

 

“Stop,” interrupted James. “Just...do not, alright?” Remus laughed.

 

“Coast is clear, captain,” he said with a wide salute. James, to his credit, did not punch Remus in the face.

 

“Sorry,” Peter said weakly from his spot on the ground. “But, uh...is there a Deadhead hanging out in our tent, or are the fever hallucinations starting?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” said James, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s kind of a long story…”

 

“You’re not hallucinating, though,” Sirius piped up.

 

“Yes you are,” added Remus. “I’m just a figment of your imagination. The whole apocalypse is a lie. You’re actually at the grocers naked right now. It’d be best if you woke up. It’s really bumming the patrons out.”

 

“Are you like this because you were bitten, or have you always been a piece of shit?” asked James. Remus just winked.

 

“Uh…?” said Peter.

 

“He’s real,” James reemphasized. “He’s also an arsehole.” 

 

“And he’s also going to help us get you medicine,” added Sirius, although he said it more as a reminder to James, who was looking more murderous by the second.

 

“And boy do you need it, buddy. No offense, but you look worse than me,” said Remus.

 

Peter looked from one person to the other, before finally giving a weak, one-armed shrug.

 

“I’m just gonna go with it,” he muttered.

 

“Good,” said Remus with a bit more of a bite to his tone. “Because we’re burning daylight sitting here talking about it, and we’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”

 

“Like how we’re getting a car,” said Sirius, and both James and Remus nodded.

 

They’d had a car for a while—Peter’s car, the one they’d fled the city in—and life with it had been a dream in comparison. Fast getaways were simple when all you had to do was press on the gas pedal to escape the hordes of Deadheads closing in on you.

 

Of course, the problem with having to constantly drive through tense, life-threatening situations was that it made it more difficult to drive like a civilized human being. Tires squealing, engine revving, they drove the car like they were in an action movie, until the day they got overzealous during a runaway and ended up with too much speed and not enough road leading to a steep dropoff. The three of them hardly had time to bail out of the car before it went tumbling over the edge.

 

Bruised and battered from the hard landing, fighting off a handful of rogue Flesh Biters ambling towards them, they could do nothing but listen to the sound of metal clanging and scraping against rock, settling into the shallow stream below with a tremendous crash.

 

Later, they retrieved what they could from the wreckage, but the car no longer even resembled a car, and wasn’t driving anywhere anytime soon. 

 

From then on they’d been on foot, and it was terrible. 

 

“There are cars in the city,” said Sirius. “Are we going to try to get one of those?” But Remus shook his head.

 

“Nah, those cars are easy access. That makes them useless. People have been in and out of the city siphoning out gasoline and oil for who knows how long. It’d take way too long and way too much noise for us to find a car worth stealing in there.” 

 

“Where, then?” asked James.

 

“There’s a decent sized farm a good two or three hour hike from here—and that’s if you’re able-bodied,” he added, looking pointedly at Peter, who seemed more confused than ever. “It fell early on. I came across it when I first got to this part of the country, and I scoped it out. Total Flesh Biter haven. I think the original inhabitants are even still there—as Deadheads I mean—as well as a few packs that have just wandered in. My guess, since the owners are still there untouched, is that no Heartbeaters have tried to fuck with it. And, I mean, why would they? It’s a small, enclosed space,  _ super _ dangerous, and the city is close enough nearby, with most of larger packs having already wandered off from it, so why would they bother? Only a total idiot would try to infiltrate that farm.”

 

“But they have cars,” said Sirius.

 

“Yeah. Lots of them, actually. We could get the best one and then siphon gas from the others. Probably have other supplies there too, but let’s not get greedy.”

 

“Why don’t you just go bust in, then?” asked James. “The Deadheads don’t notice you. You can walk right in, get what we need, and come back.”

 

“Yeah, except there’s no way to get back here with a car,” Remus explained. “The woods are too dense. There’s a narrow path that goes northeast that spits you out basically in that farm’s front yard, but it has to be walked. We’d all have to go, and we’re probably not gonna find ourselves alone the closer we get, if you catch my drift.”

 

“They’ll probably be about a million Deadheads in and around the farm,” said James, and Remus agreed.

 

“Yeah. And, I mean, I can get past them just fine, but I can’t stop them from smelling and coming after you. They don’t want anything to do with me, but that doesn’t mean they don’t hear me. I don’t want to inadvertently guide them to your scent.”  

 

“You need me, then,” said Sirius. James and Remus looked at him. “We take Peter and James as far into the forest as we’ll dare without them getting overrun. James might not be in tiptop condition, but he can handle a few if he needs to, no problem. He’d stay back and protect Peter, and I’ll trail behind you. You make a pathway, and I’ll catch any stragglers. That way we don’t have to worry about them heading back and finding James and Peter. Plus, it’d be easier for us to get them once we’ve got the car and supplies if we’ve already taken out all the Deadheads in the way.”

 

“Why are we going to a farm?” asked Peter, coughing into his hand.

 

“Because we need a car. Shush, you said you were just going with it,” said James. He turned to Remus. “This is a terrible plan,” he said.

 

“Yeah, well, that’s what I tried to tell you last night, but you had to be all, ‘do it for the greater good,’ and, ‘life is worth the risk,’ or whatever.” When James continued to look stern, Remus just shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. If you want to get to The Burrow before Peter kicks the bucket, then we have to have a car. That’s just facts, alright? Now, Sirius’ plan is a bit reckless, but it’s solid, and honestly, it’s probably our best option.” 

 

“Who’s kicking the bucket?” asked Peter, but everyone ignored him.

 

“It’s the safest way,” said Sirius. “You protect Peter, I protect you, Remus protects me.”

 

“For the safest option it certainly has a lot of potential for death,” James said. 

 

“Yeah, well, it’s still the Goddamn apocalypse, buddy,” said Remus, and Sirius was forced to agree.

 

“We’re never going to find a way that’s totally risk free. If Remus says this farm is our best option, then I say we go for it.”

 

James stared at Sirius a moment before saying, “can I talk to you a sec?” He pushed past Remus and clambered out of the tent. When Sirius didn’t follow, he looked back inside, and added, “in private, please.” 

 

Sirius hesitated. He glanced at Remus, who mimed looking at a watch on his wrist. “Crazy how time works,” he said. “We’ve been talking for what seems like so long, and yet somehow it’s still waste-my-time o’clock.” 

 

“Shut up,” said James. He gave Sirius a significant look, and Sirius conceded. He climbed out of the tent, breathing deeply in the fresh air. 

 

“I didn’t realize how stuffy it was in there,” he mused, following James as he led them a few paces away. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” James asked, rounding on him as soon as they were out of earshot of Remus and Peter.

 

“Uh...what?” asked Sirius, taken aback.

 

“‘ _ If Remus says it’s the best option, I say go for it _ ?’” James mimicked. “Leaving Remus alone to watch the camp? What the Hell, man, why are you and Remus suddenly best friends?”

 

“What are you talking about?” said Sirius indignantly. “We’re not. I just thought...I mean, using Remus to get to The Burrow was  _ your _ idea in the first place.”

 

“Yeah,  _ using _ Remus, not falling in love with him.”

 

“Oh shut the fuck up, you’re being dramatic,” Sirius snapped. “Leaving him alone this morning was probably an oversight, I admit it, but I was tired, and it turned out fine. And, sorry to break it to you, but using Remus means we have to trust his judgment sometimes. He knows the woods better than us. He knows the Deadheads better than us. Hell, he  _ is _ a Deadhead.”

 

“Yes. Exactly. He’s a fucking Deadhead. Now, I’m not saying he’s malicious, I’m not saying he’s lying about what happened to him, but we can’t just say fuck it and blow caution to the wind because, I dunno, he makes a lot of stupid jokes.” 

 

“He’s different than the other ones,” said Sirius quietly. “He’s basically just a person, James, and you heard him, he’s risking a lot to help us when he doesn’t have to. It’s not like we have to tell him all our secrets or give him total control, but if we’re going to work with him, we might as well try to get along.” 

 

“Doesn’t matter if he’s a Deadhead or a person or what, he can still have ulterior motives.” 

 

“He also could die for us. And I dunno, James, when there’s not much else to give, that counts for a lot in my book.”

 

At an impasse with each other, James and Sirius stood in silence. Finally James said, “we can do his plan, but just...be careful, okay? Watch your back, and stay in control of him if you can help it.”

 

“If he was gonna hurt us he would have already done it. He’s had plenty opportunity.”

 

“Just be careful,” James said again. “Peter is on the brink, I’m not losing you too.” 

 

Sirius held James’ gaze for a second before nodding.

 

“It’ll work out,” he said.

 

“I hope so.”

 

Sirius tucked his hands into his pockets, and they ambled back to the tent. 

 

“Done talking about whether or not you can trust me?” asked Remus once they got back inside.

 

“Oh, we weren’t—” Sirius began, but Remus cut him off.

 

“Ah ah ah,” he said, tapping his own ear. “Great zombie hearing, remember?”

 

Sirius flushed slightly. “Sorry,” he muttered, but James was unperturbed. 

 

“We hardly know each other yet. It’s not unreasonable for us to be wary,” he said. 

 

“You seem to be the only one who’s wary,” Remus pointed out.

 

“I’m pretty wary, for what it’s worth,” mumbled Peter on the ground. 

 

“Yeah, but you’ve got a crazy fever, it doesn’t count,” said Remus with a dismissive wave. “If you were in your right mind you’d realize I’m a delight. Unlike your friend here, who seems to think he can just, what was it you said, ‘use’ me? Well,” said Remus, placing a hand on his motionless heart. “I’m just glad to know I’m worth so much in your eyes.” 

 

James was still unfazed. “You’re useful,” he said bluntly. “You might be a stellar bloke, but right now all I know or care about is getting to The Burrow. We don’t have to be friends to make that happen.”

 

“Isn’t that lucky,” Remus deadpanned. 

 

“Not to interrupt,” Sirius muttered. “But weren’t you saying we were already wasting time?”

 

Remus stared at him for a moment. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but instead he clapped his hands together. “Yep! That’s right, daylight’s burning! Fuck it, right?” He sounded enthusiastic, but there was a definitive frown in the corner of his mouth. He got out of the tent, turned, and yelled back inside, “get your shit packed and grab breakfast for the road. We’re gonna go steal a car in ten.”

 

—-

 

They’d long since mastered the pack-and-dash, which allowed them to collect up their entire campsite and supplies in a matter of minutes. Sirius shouldered a large bag on his back containing their tent, spare clothes, and medical supplies. James carried their food, weapons, and miscellaneous items. Remus, much to Peter’s dismay, carried Peter. 

 

“It’s either this, or we drag you by the arms through the forest, because if we wait for you to stumble your sick self behind us, there’s no way we’re reaching the farm by sunset,” Remus said when Peter protested to being scooped up and thrown over Remus’ shoulder like a knapsack.

 

“Won’t you get tired?” asked Sirius, and Remus raised an eyebrow that said,  _ aren’t you a bit thick _ ?

 

“I don’t breathe,” he reminded Sirius bluntly. “And my muscles don’t strain either, or at least if they do I don’t feel it. Deadhead perks, right?”

 

“Right,” Sirius muttered, and James decided not to comment. Instead, he said,

 

“You’re the one who knows where the farm is. You lead the way.”

 

“Sure I’m trustworthy enough to have such an important task?” asked Remus with mock concern.

 

“Nope,” James replied without missing a beat. “Now let’s get going.”

 

A palpable tension between the four of them, they began their journey.

 

The trek through the woods was more difficult than Sirius was willing to admit. They’d had the comfort of their campsite for nearly two weeks, and he found that he had gotten rusty with that false sense of security to cling to. Not having the same luxury as Remus, his muscles strained under the weight of the supplies, and despite a crisp chill in the air, sweat gathered along his hairline, and dripped down his cheeks. Twigs and leaves snapped under his heavy boots, as he was too preoccupied with the burning in his arms to maintain a careful gait. 

 

James was equally as sloppy, although he disguised it better under a stoic facial expression. The hike took a toll on his already weakened ankle, and with the supplies he carried throwing him even more off balance, he stumbled like he’d had a few too many drinks. 

 

Remus was the only one with any semblance of grace. Even with Peter lolling half-conscious against his back, he maneuvered every stick and stone with a practiced ease. He had covered his face once again with the veil, and while it was easy to forget—or, at least, ignore—Remus’ condition when they were stationary, his speediness and lack of heaving under Peter’s weight were constant reminders that he was Different with a capital D. 

 

“How much longer?” Sirius asked breathlessly after nearly forty minutes of silence, the only sounds coming from the forest and his own labored breathing. The question felt juvenile and weak, and he hated bringing attention to the fact that he was struggling, but judging by the position of the sun, they’d been traveling for hours.

 

To his surprise, Remus didn’t meet his question with a snappy witticism, but instead pointed his hand, the one not keeping Peter from sliding off, towards an upwards slope a few meters away. “Up ahead,” he said, his voice as steady as when they began, which sent a pang of annoyance through Sirius, who was blinking rapidly to get the sting of sweat out of his eyes.

 

“The farm’s over the hill?” asked James, and at least he sounded as tired as Sirius felt.

 

“Not quite, but nearby,” Remus said to him. “That’s where I want you and Peter to stay. It’s close enough that Sirius and I can come get you when we get the car, but the hill will provide you with a bit of cover in case we run into any trouble.” 

 

James, obviously still displeased with the plan of staying behind while Sirius went zombie hunting with a Deadhead, set his jaw, but didn’t argue. 

 

They shuffled the last of the way to the hill. There was a small dip in the ground just adjacent, and it was surrounded by shrubs. Remus slid down into it, followed by James and Sirius, and he gently helped Peter to the ground.

 

“How you doin’, mate?” he asked him as he adjusted him on the hard dirt. 

 

“Been better,” Peter admitted, and Sirius was wont to agree. Peter was almost paler than Remus, a glossy, unfocused look in his eye. He’d been slumped over the shoulder of a Flesh Biter he knew next to nothing about for upwards of about four hours, and Peter, who was usually quick to doubt and complaint, had had very little to say about it. He was clearly not at his best.

 

A fat, indistinguishable bug with far too many legs for Sirius’ liking scurried out from underneath the body that threatened to crush it. Remus, with inhuman-like reflexes, (because he wasn’t human, Sirius had to remind himself), snatched it between his index finger and thumb, and killed it with a distinct ‘crunch.’

 

“Eat this,” he said, holding it out to Peter, who furrowed his brow.

 

“No?” he said.

 

“Yes,” said Remus. “You barely touched your breakfast. We can’t have you starving on top of everything else.”

 

“Can’t I just eat something from our supply bag?” asked Peter weakly, frowning at the bug.

 

“Yes, do that too. Now eat this, you need the protein, and food is hard to come by nowadays.” As Peter opened his mouth to protest, Remus shoved the crushed bug into his mouth. He then put a hand over Peter’s lips so he couldn’t spit it out. With his entire face screwed up into a look of utter disgust, Peter chewed and swallowed. He gave a look that very closely resembled a small child feeling dejected after being forced to eat his broccoli. “Good boy,” said Remus, patting his cheek. He got to his feet. “Make sure he does eat something else, too, though,” he added to James.

 

“So what, you and Sirius are just going to go storm the farm while we sit here?” James asked. 

 

“Uh, yeah, I think that was the plan we agreed on,” said Remus, helping Sirius take the supplies off his back, not even looking at James. Sirius breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden lightness he felt with his burdens removed. Remus handed him a bottle of water, and he took a long swig. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Sirius said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and passing the water to James, who bent down to help Peter drink it instead. “We’ll be okay, we’ll get the car, and we’ll get to The Burrow.” 

 

“So much optimism!” said Remus, clapping Sirius hard on the back. “I like it. You could learn from your friend, James.”

 

James glared at Remus for a long moment, before saying, “just don’t get my best friend killed.” 

 

Remus’ eyes softened slightly, but his demeanor remained unchanged. He shrugged his shoulder in a show of nonchalance. “I’ll do my best,” he said. He turned to Sirius. “You ready?” he asked. “Do you need a rest?”

 

The truth was that Sirius needed more than a rest; he needed ten to twelve hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. Instead, he just shook his head, cognizant of the fact that nighttime wasn’t far off. “I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to convince himself as well as the others. “Let’s go.”

 

“Sirius...” James said, but he seemed to have nothing else to add. Sirius exchanged a glance with his friend, and understood. He pulled James into a very brief embrace, before pulling away, and saying, once again, this time with extra emphasis,

 

“We’ll be okay.” 

 

James, although clearly skeptical, nodded. 

 

“Alright, Pete?” Sirius said at his friend half-conscious on the ground.

 

“Alright,” Peter said, sounding resigned, having long since given up on understanding anything that was going on.

 

“Maybe fill him in while we’re gone?” Remus suggested to James, nodding down at Peter’s perpetually lost expression.

 

“Yeah,” James agreed. “Go on, then, if you’re going.”

 

“How long do you think we’ll be?” asked Sirius, checking to make sure the weapons embedded in various parts of his clothing were all well within reach. He pulled his gun out of the holster around his waist and made sure it was fully loaded. “So they know if they should start worrying or not?”

 

“If we’re not back before nightfall, just assume we’re dead,” said Remus bluntly, adjusting the machete on his shoulder. “Find yourself shelter for the night, and then get to the city and see if you can find anyone else to help you.”

 

“That’s not exactly what I meant—” Sirius started, but Remus was already starting up the hill. 

 

“Be safe,” James said. 

 

  
“See you soon,” said Sirius, and he scurried up the slope to catch up with Remus.

 

—-

 

“Jesus Christ,” said Sirius in a whisper as soon as they got close enough to the edge of the forest to see the farm.

 

“Yeah, I might not have done it justice,” Remus admitted in the same hushed tone, tugging the blade of his machete out of the head of a stray Flesh Biter that had ambled towards them.

 

“How in the Hell,” Sirius asked, staring, “are we going to get past them?”

 

Through the tangle of trees, there was a wide open field that led up to the wire gates of the farm. The gate had been partially trampled, bent so far over it was nearly touching the ground. Sirius could see Deadheads roaming aimlessly across it going both directions, and a few appeared to be stuck, their feet caught in the wire. Past the gate, into the farm itself, the land was inundated with packs upon packs of limping, stumbling Deadheads. Sirius became aware that a low grumbling noise he had heard earlier and tuned out—assuming it was just the sounds of animals in the forest—was actually the collective groaning of dozens of Deadheads. His stomach twisted.

 

A couple of Flesh Biters rustled around in the trees nearby, and Remus tugged Sirius a little further away.

 

“Can you just go in?” asked Sirius. “Can you go grab a car and I stay at the edge of the forest and catch any stragglers?”

 

“I could try,” said Remus. “But if I’m making that much noise, they’re gonna notice me, and they’re going to latch onto your scent, and I don’t know if they’ll follow it out here or not. You very well might be overrun before I have a chance to get back to you. I can hotwire a car, but not very well. It will take me more than a minute to do.”

 

“I can hotwire a car,” said Sirius quickly. “So I guess we need a way for us both to get in there without them attacking us, and we need to get out before they catch wind of the direction we came from so we protect James and Peter. How?”

 

Remus quirked his mouth in thought for a moment, taking in his surroundings. Something seemed to click. “Look, you see that barn over there?” he said, pointing at a rundown barn with overgrown weeds and grass creeping up along its sides.

 

“Yeah,” said Sirius. 

 

“Look right next to it; there’s a rod of barbed wire.” 

 

Sure enough, also caught in the overgrowth, was a large, cylindrical holder of what Sirius didn’t recognize because he’d never spent more than two minutes on a farm in his life, but took at Remus’ word was barbed wire.

 

“Okay,” he said. “What do we do with it?”

 

“There are some cars and trucks parked over on the other side of the house.” Remus indicated towards a small, white house with missing shingles on the roof and paint chipping off. “Now, I can attach the barbed wire to the barn and then pull it over to that parts of the gate over there that’s still standing. It wouldn’t just block off where we need to get to, but it would block off the opening to the gate, too. Of course, it won’t stop them, but if we put it at waist length and make sure there’s no give to the wire, it will slow them down enough for us to get a headstart. They won’t be smart enough to crawl underneath it. They’ll probably crowd it and tumble over themselves. If you can get a car started quickly, we should be able to get out of here before they sort out their confusion.”

 

“Okay,” said Sirius slowly. “But for that to work we’d have to get most of them on that side of the farm. They’re scattered all over.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” said Remus. “Unfortunately, that’s where you come in.”

 

“...You’re gonna make me bait them?” Sirius said with a sudden realization to where this was going.

 

“They won’t move if I make noise. They might smell your scent on me, but that won’t be enough to drag them to where we want them. At best, they’d regard me with mild disinterest; at worst, they’d follow our trail right back into the forest.” 

 

“I’ll do it,” Sirius said quickly, and Remus appeared somewhat taken aback at Sirius’ lack of resistance. “If it gets us what we need, and keeps Peter and James safe, I’ll do it. Just...how do I do it? With the least possible amount of, you know, death?” 

 

Remus observed the farm again, thinking hard. He turned toward him abruptly. “Did you bring a gun?” he asked. Sirius nodded, unconsciously reaching towards his holster. “Alright, and how fast can you run?”

 

“Fast.”

 

“Excellent. Then here’s what you need to do. I go out first and take care of as many stragglers as I can before going into the farm; you follow me, but back a ways. Then, once I’m past the gates, I’ll go straight to the barn and get the wire trap started. While I’m doing that, you get as close to the left side of the farm as you can without getting bit. Fire one shot, and then run as quickly and quietly as you can. The gates on that side seem to be intact, but there will be Deadheads who aren’t inside the gates that will hear it, and there will be a few that will get past the gates before I can block it off, so  _ run _ , okay?”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Okay. Then, when I’ve set up the trap, you come find me, and go hotwire the car while I try and fend off as many as I can from getting over the wire.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“Then you drive the car over here, pick me up, and we go and get Peter and James.”

 

“Uh, right, good, that sounds solid…” 

 

“I’m detecting a ‘but’ here.”

 

“Well, it’s just...I can hotwire a car, but I can’t actually...drive one?”

 

Remus blinked at him. “Beg pardon?” he said.

 

“I never took a driver’s test,” said Sirius sheepishly. “My family always had drivers so I never saw the need when I was a teenager, and then I didn’t have anyone to teach me. James was gonna do it but then the outbr—”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Look, you don’t have to know the rules of the road here, okay? Just put the car in drive and press down on the fucking accelerator, yeah?” Remus turned away mumbling something about, ‘the stupidest apocalypse ever.’ 

 

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled. 

 

“Just arm yourself and get ready,” said Remus, wiping some bloody remnants off the blade of his machete on the grass. “Remember, one shot and one shot only.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius pulled out his knife, and then reached over to his holster to unlock the safety on his gun.

 

“Follow me close but not too close, and don’t draw attention to yourself too early. Get to the left side of the farm, and then get the Hell out. Count of three we go. Ready? One...Two...Three!” Remus ran through the treeline, and Sirius waited a few beats, before going after him at a jog.  

 

Remus was efficient. Without hesitation he swung around his machete, clearing a pathway for Sirius to follow. What Deadheads Remus didn’t kill, he immobilized, chopping heads off at the neck and letting them roll uselessly on the ground, still trying to attack even with their bodies as lumps beside them. Sirius considered delivering killshots, driving his knife into their brains, but he knew the second he used his weapon, the attention would be on him. He stepped over heads with jaws making slow, desperate biting motions, and bodies that ended at the neck which flopped around on the ground, hands flexing and grasping at empty air.

 

It took little time for Remus to reach the gate; none of the Deadheads had any interest in pursuing him, and thus were unprepared when he came at them with his blade. He turned to check on Sirius. Sirius, seeing a clearing towards the left side of the farm, nodded the go-ahead to Remus. Remus nodded back, and then pushed himself through a horde of Flesh Biters surrounding the fallen gate, taking victims as he went.

 

On his own, Sirius pulled out his gun, and gripped tighter to his knife. What his gait had lacked in the forest, he made up for it now, dancing through the open field silently, like a lion on its prey. He got as close to the gate as he dared. The Deadheads on the other side of the fence noticed him, and raised their limp arms out at him, snapping their mouths as though they already had hold of his flesh. Through the sea of monsters he could see Remus fiddling with the roll of barbed wire, and while the area around this side of the gate was open, he could see a pack not far ahead, and he knew that as soon as he pulled his trigger they’d be on him. Or perhaps they were already ambling down to where he stood, hearing the hungry snarls of Flesh Biters pressing against the gate. 

 

He drew in a breath, raised the gun high in the air, and fired a single shot.

 

The groans of the gated Flesh Biters grew more urgent, and he was certain now that the pack up ahead, and any pack he hadn’t seen, knew he was there now. He turned on his heel to run, and collided right into the chest of a Deadhead that had been silently stalking him.

 

The Deadhead was particularly ugly, with one of it’s eyes pulled out of its socket and dangling by the optic nerve. Its skin was welted, so deeply in some places that Sirius could make out tendons in its neck, and bits of bone. It gurgled into Sirius’ ear, as it leaned in to bite him.

 

Sirius angled away just in time, but the Deadhead had a tight hold on his shirt. When he pulled, the Deadhead went with him, and the two of them tumbled onto the grass, rolling, both of them struggling: Sirius struggling to get away, and the Deadhead struggling to keep its supper.

 

The knife and gun flew out of Sirius’ hands, and he tried to grope for either of them, but he couldn’t find them. Instead, he tried to reach for the spare knife he kept strapped against his side, but the Deadhead had him pinned on his back and was trying diligently to make a meal out of Sirius’ upper bicep. 

 

Sirius used his knees to push the Deadhead just far enough away to be out of biting range. With one hand he pushed the Deadhead’s forehead up and away from his skin, and with the other he continued to grope, until his hand came upon something solid. He grabbed it, not even bothering to look at what it was, before slamming it into the skull of the Flesh Biter. 

 

The momentum was enough to knock the Deadhead off balance, and Sirius took its moment of weakness to shove it off his body, and then straddle its body between his knees, while he took the makeshift weapon—it seemed to be a stone—and continued to bash it into the Flesh Biter—not hearing the cracking sounds of bone, not feeling the wetness of sludgy, coagulated blood—until he busted through the skull plate, and drove the stone into the brain, where it stuck.

 

Heaving, Sirius got to his feet, checked around him, found his gun first, and then his knife. He then turned to see at least twenty Flesh Biters lurching their way towards him. 

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, and took off the way he came. 

 

He circled back around to the front of the farm, where Remus was securing the second end of the barbed wire, trapping the Deadheads inside. Sirius watched as a Deadhead approached him, and Remus, hands busy, headbutted it with enough force that it stumbled backwards and fell to the ground.

 

“What now?” Sirius said when he was within earshot of Remus. He paused to put away his gun.

 

“Took you a minute, didn’t it?” Remus said loudly over the groans of the Deadheads ganging up on the wire. 

 

“Yeah, well, ran into some trouble. Which, speaking of, there’s a pack nearby that’s headed straight for the woods, so we need to grab and dash before they find James and Peter.”

 

“The gunshot lured a lot of them out of that side of the farm,” said Remus, nodding at the house. He picked up his machete and took off three heads with one swipe. “I got a lot, but there may still be a few.” The Flesh Biter that had fallen was now dragging itself under the wire. Without so much as a second thought, Remus stomped it’s head into the ground. “You’d better hurry. This is just a temporary solution, remember.”

 

“Right,” said Sirius, and took off running again. He rounded the house, and again came face to face with a Deadhead, but this time he was prepared. He jammed his knife into its temple, and was already running again before it even hit the ground.

 

Remus was right when he said there were several vehicles to pick from, but he didn’t have the frame of mind to be particularly choosey. He went with what was closest, which happened to be a pickup truck with large wheels. He pulled on the door, and found it unlocked and was immediately overcome with a terrible stench. He hoisted himself up and found a body in the late stages of decomposition. 

 

The body didn’t have many distinguishing features anymore, except for white wispy hair, and the clothes the man—Sirius assumed it was a man—had died in. On the body’s left arm there was a mark that was different than the rest. It was a sickly green and red color, and seemed to still be festering even though the body had been clearly dead for some time. Sirius also saw a hole that went clear through the body’s head, and realized the body was surrounded by browning, sticky blood. Near the hand, which was now just blackened flesh and bone, there was a pistol. 

 

Sirius was about to leave the truck, letting the man’s gravesite be, but as he turned to leave, his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny sitting on the dashboard. It was what appeared to be the man’s wallet, and, more importantly, his keys. 

 

“Shit,” Sirius murmured. With time being of the essence, he didn’t have time to loiter over disgust, or even ethics. A key was faster and more efficient than hotwiring. He had to at least see if one of the man’s keys turned on the truck.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Sirius said to the body that heard none of his apology, as he grabbed it by its flannel shirt, and yanked it hard enough that it tumbled out of the vehicle. Sirius then took the driver’s seat, decidedly not thinking about what he was sitting in, or the stench he doubted they’d ever be able to get out of the fabric, and grabbed the man’s keys. He went for the big key, with the bow covered in black rubber. He slid it into the ignition and it fit like a glove. He sent out a silent ‘please’ to anyone or anything that may be listening, and turned the key.

 

The engine turned over, but didn’t start. Sirius was not deterred, however, as it meant the battery had some juice in it at least. He tried again, and it idled for a little longer. He took a deep breath, and then tried a third time, and this time the engine roared to life. The gas gage went up, and was nearly full. Sirius let out a loud whoop, before realizing that this meant he was now expected to drive it. 

 

“Just put it in drive and press on the accelerator,” Sirius said, repeating Remus’ words back to himself. “Ok, but how do I put it in drive?” 

 

He looked to his side where he thought the transmission ought to be, but there was nothing. He then noticed a lever sticking out from the steering wheel, and a list of letters on the dash, one of which was “D.” 

 

“Right,” Sirius mumbled to himself. He pulled on the lever, but it didn’t move. He pulled a little harder, but it felt like it was about to snap, and he let go. “Or not right?” he said. He looked around blankly for something to jump out and give him an explanation on what he was supposed to do, but nothing did.

 

Driving was a lot easier when you had a driver, Sirius thought to himself.

 

“Maybe if…” He pressed down on the pedal furthest to the right and pulled on the lever, but nothing happened except that the engine roared like it was trying to speed up, but couldn’t. He lifted up his foot, and then tried it on the pedal next to it. To his utter relief, the lever moved when he pressed down on the second pedal. He lifted up his foot, and the truck started rolling slowly backwards. 

 

“No, no, no, not right,” Sirius said, pressing down on the first pedal again. The truck lurched backwards and collided with a bunch of bins. Sirius tried the second pedal, which was quickly becoming his favorite of the two, and the truck stopped moving. “Brake,” he said to the pedal. “You are the brake.” He pressed on his new friend The Brake and pulled the lever again, this time making sure the little light on the dash corresponded with the “D” that he assumed meant “drive.” 

 

He sat with his foot on the brake for a moment, wary of messing with the accelerator again, but again, time  _ was _ of the essence. Reluctantly, he moved from the brake, went back to pedal one, and pressed down hard. 

 

The truck sped forward, and Sirius slammed on the brakes, making the whole truck jolt, and the tires squeal. 

 

“Ok, not that hard,” Sirius told himself, trying again, this time pressing very, very gently on the accelerator. He began to creep forward at a snail’s pace. He pressed down harder, but the truck sped up once again, and he narrowly avoided colliding with a little beat up Chevy Cavalier next to him. 

 

Unable to get a balance, Sirius opted for snail pace, trying very hard to steer while keeping his foot on the accelerator. He took out another set of bins, and hit the brakes hard over and over again. 

 

He turned, sloppily, around the house, running into two Flesh Biters, that just sort of rolled out of the way as Sirius gently nudged them with his slow-moving truck. From up ahead, Remus, who was covered in blood and was wrestling with a Deadhead that had gotten over the wire, gave an incredulous look.

 

Shaking his head, he dropped the Deadhead in his arms, and ran up to the truck. Sirius slammed on the brakes just as Remus jumped on, making Remus lose his balance and topple to the ground. He got back onto his feet instantaneously, walked over to the driver’s side, yanked open the door, and said, “move over, you’re terrible at this.” 

 

All to glad to be rid of his driving responsibilities, Sirius started to climb over to the other seat, and the truck began to move forwards. He slammed on the brakes again, while Remus screamed, “put it in park first, you idiot!” 

 

“Oh, right, yeah, sorry,” said Sirius, pushing the lever back to the “P,” and scrambling over to the passenger side. 

 

“Okay, so,” said Remus saddling into the driver’s seat. “I blocked off the broken part of the fence, and I don’t want to risk popping tires running over barbed wire, so I’m gonna drive through the gate there. Probably buckle up or something.”

 

Sirius hardly had time to react before Remus pressed down hard on the accelerator—though in a much more controlled way than Sirius had managed—and drove directly into the gate up ahead. 

 

The gate went down with a loud crash, and the truck bumped and jolted over top of it. 

 

“The pack, it’s right by the edge of the forest,” Sirius said, looking out the window at the mass of Deadheads headed for the trees. 

 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” said Remus, sounding like he had no idea what they were about to do. “I’m going to pull up to the edge of the forest, and start taking out as many as the Deadheads as I can. While I’m doing that, you go and get James and Peter.”

 

“What if Peter can’t walk?” asked Sirius. “Or what if there are still too many Deadheads when we get over the hill?”

 

“Look, we’re playing this by ear, okay? Just go get Peter and James, and also give me your gun.” 

 

“I thought you said we shouldn’t shoot—”

 

“Give me your gun!”

 

“Jesus, alright, here.” Sirius pulled the gun back out of the holster and as soon as Remus stopped the truck, he jumped out and started running back down the hill. “James?” he yelled when he got close to the dugout. “Pete?”

 

“Yeah, we’re still here,” said James. Sirius saw his head pop up as he got to his feet. “You’re covered in blood.”

 

“Don’t think much of it is mine,” said Sirius quickly. He started shouldering supplies. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. Remus is trying to stave off a huge pack, but I don’t think he can get them all and the ones he doesn’t get are gonna head this way.”

 

“Right,” said James, also picking up bags. “Pete, can you walk? Run, if you can manage it? It’s not far.”

 

“Can try,” Peter mumbled. He pushed himself to his feet, and he stumbled. Both James and Sirius reached out to steady him, but he managed it on his own. “‘Sok,” he said. “I’m ok.”

 

They rushed up the hill, half pulling Peter with them, and through the trees they could hear the sound of a machete swiping. They burst through the treeline, and came face to face with the enormous pack, which Remus had only partially managed to maintain. 

 

“Get around me and get in the truck,” Remus said forcefully. “Don’t think, just do it.” 

 

Sirius did just that. He pulled Peter with him, James following right beside, and got to the truck. 

 

“Watch it!” said James, unable to get to his bow as a Flesh Biter came around the side rear of the truck. Sirius kicked it, making it lose it’s footing, and James rammed the heel of his boot into its face.

 

“In in in!” yelled Sirius, throwing the truck door open, and helping hoist Peter up. He gave James a hand, and then went in next, slamming the door behind him. 

 

Off on the side Remus took out a couple more Deadheads, then took off running, right past the truck.

 

“What are you doing?” Sirius yelled, cracking the window. 

 

“One second!” Remus yelled. “Don’t leave the truck!” 

 

They turned in their seats to watch as Remus ran back inside the farm gates they had run over. He picked up something that looked like a can of gasoline, and began pouring it over the Deadheads crowding and falling over the barbed wire. From the distance, it appeared like he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, and a scrap of something, possibly paper. He took Sirius’ gun, raised it in the air, and shot it off once. 

 

The Deadheads by the truck turned towards the sound and started ambling past them, headed towards the farm.

 

Remus waited until the pack had gotten close, before lighting the paper in his hand, and throwing it over the barbed wire barricade. One by one, the Flesh Biters ignited, and the ones on the outside of the gate ran right into the trap, catching on fire as they got close. Remus ducked back out of the farm, and got to the truck. He hopped back into the driver’s side.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” said James, although he didn’t sound accusatory; only curious. “We could have gotten away.”

 

“I know,” said Remus, putting the truck into drive. “But maybe a few lives could be saved if there are less Flesh Biters wandering into the forest.” 

 

James stared at Remus for a moment, before nodding. 

 

“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For the truck. For keeping Sirius alive.”

 

“Yeah well,” said Remus, setting his jaw and not meeting James’ gaze. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got a Burrow to find.”

 

—-

 

Reveling in their victory, the four of them allowed themselves a moment of celebration. They sped down the dirt road, eventually hitting a highway that led them east. “Towards The Burrow,” Sirius pointed out cheerfully. It felt nice, having something to celebrate. Moments like that were far and few between.

 

Just when Sirius was thinking things might be looking up, and was allowing himself to doze against the back of his seat, Remus suddenly slammed on the brakes.

 

“Whuh?” he said, jolting back awake, but his question was immediately answered. In front of their truck was a young, red-headed woman, looking battered and forlorn. She waved her hands at them.

 

“Help!” he could see her mouthing. “Please help!” 

 

They all exchanged a glance before silently agreeing to put the car and park and investigate. “I’ll stay here in case we need a quick getaway,” said Remus, remaining in the driver’s seat, but Sirius got the distinct impression that he was worried more about his secret being revealed. He couldn’t exactly fault him. Peter remained with him.

 

“What’s the matter?” James asked, jumping down from the truck, approaching the woman cautiously. 

 

“I need help,” said the young woman meekly, a few tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes that she didn’t bother to brush away. She hugged herself with her arms, and wouldn’t meet their eyes. “Please. I’ve lost everyone. The...the  _ things _ ...they came to our camp...there were just so many and...and they just...everyone I know, you understand, they got them  _ all _ . Please. Have mercy.”

 

Sirius, who had been preparing himself to reach for his knife, straightened back up, feeling pity. James glanced back at him, the same feeling expressed across his face. He turned back towards the woman.

 

“Hey now,” he said, getting closer. “Don’t cry, sweetie, we’ll help you.” 

 

The woman blinked up at him with large, doe eyes. “Really?” she asked. “It’s just that...so many people turn so mean during hard times. It’s like everyone has lost their humanity. Very ‘every man and woman for themselves,’ you know? So do you really mean it?”

 

“Yeah,” James insisted, gently putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Yeah, of course. We won’t leave you out here to die, sweetie.”

 

The young woman, who looked so meek and innocent, suddenly broke into a very sinister grin. She kicked out her legs, knocking James to the ground, and then flipping him on his back and pinning him with her entire weight. “Call me sweetie one more time, and you’ll be Walking Chomper food, you got me?” 

 

Sirius, surprised, quickly recovered and reached down to pull out his knife, but the young woman was quicker. From her belt she pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at Sirius’ face. “Don’t even try it,” she said. “One wrong move and you’ve got lead going right through your skull.” The woman pointed her gun at James’ temple, turned towards the bushes along the side of the road and yelled out, “oi! Marlene! Dorcas! I’ve got ‘em, come here!” 

 

From the bushes emerged two women, one blonde with sharp features, and another with bobbed, brown hair, and a severe expression. They both were wielding guns. The blonde pointed hers at Sirius, and the brunette kept hers aimed at the driver’s side door of the truck.

 

“Nice one, Lily,” said the blonde, looking down at James and laughing. “You do the lost little girl act so well. You could have been an actor.” 

 

“You wouldn’t be bad at it if you could just get the tears down,” the woman, Lily, said. She turned back to Sirius. “So listen,” she said sternly, a glint in her eyes. “You’re going to give us everything you can spare, plus your truck, and then you’re going to let us go without putting up any sort of fight. You got that?”

 

“Why in the Hell would we do that?” asked James from the ground. Lily pressed the gun to his skin a little harder.

  
“Because if you don’t we will kill all of you. And listen, we don’t want to do that. We aren’t killers, and we’re sorry, we are, but I mean...hey. It’s every man and woman for themselves out here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient with me. i've had hella writer's block lately, so updating takes a while. you're all beautiful and lovely. hmu @ severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com if u wanna read my liveblogging of cursed child and/or wanna say words to me. deuces


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trucks are very valuable when you're living in the end of the world

Sirius, usually so quick on his feet, was at a total loss. For months he lived spontaneously—it was the only way he could live, with Deadheads lurking in every corner, and two people to protect. But while outsmarting and slaughtering Deadheads was one thing, it was something else entirely to be face-to-face with three human enemies. 

 

Every Flesh Biter he met, recent exception notwithstanding, had been lethal but dumb. The Deadheads functioned solely by a hunger that guided their every action. It was their fatal flaw. It was not unlike a man falling through the ice and being so overcome with the cold that he can’t rationalize his way back to the shore; Deadheads had no sense of reason. But humans—particularly battle-hardened humans who had made it this long in a fallen world—had nothing but reason. There was no other way to survive. 

 

Sirius and his friends were now faced with a foe that possessed the ability to anticipate and predict their every move, which made them almost a bigger threat than any of the Flesh Biters they’d stumbled upon. And if they did manage to outsmart them? Sirius didn’t think twice about driving a blade through the skull of a Flesh Biter, but he wasn’t sure he could approach a human being with the same detachment. Sharing a glance with James, who seemed as irresolute as he himself felt, Sirius could only hope that these women suffered the same shortcoming they did: Human compassion.

 

“We’re trying to get to the Burrow,” he said to Lily, who hadn’t moved the muzzle of the gun pressed on James’ forehead a single millimeter. 

 

“Who isn’t?” asked the blonde, who was either Marlene or Dorcas. “Every Heartbeater with an ounce of sense is trying to get to the Burrow. Dorcas, tell the boy how many Chompers we’ve taken down just getting this far?”

 

Ah, so the blonde was Marlene. The brown haired, Chinese girl named Dorcas gave a sinister grin. “Four hundred and twelve,” she said cheerfully. “We keep a tally.”

 

“And that’s just over the last two months,” added Marlene.

 

“So don’t fuck with us,” Lily finished, leaning forward so her lips were right against James’ ear. James squirmed against her, grimacing, and she grabbed onto the back of his shirt to steady him and pressed the gun harder against his head.

 

“Our friend is sick,” said Sirius, nodding towards the truck that was idling beside them. “We stole a truck to get him to the Burrow faster, because there’s no way he’ll make it if we go on foot.”

 

The girls’ didn’t stray from their positions. “Shit happens during the end of the world,” said Marlene. “The sick get sicker; either he dies on the road or he dies at the Burrow. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

 

“Not if the Burrow has medicine,” said James, speaking at last, angling just enough to get a look at Lily. 

 

“The Burrow is the safe haven for every single person still alive in the United Kingdom,” said Lily, meeting his eye, her tone somewhat softer. “Even if they did have medicine—and that’s a big if—there’s no way they do now. We aren’t going to be the first ones there. You’ve got to know that already.” 

 

“If there’s a possibility to save our friend, even a small one, we’re not going to give up,” James said resolutely, and Sirius added,

 

“You may as well shoot us now. We’re not just going to give you our stuff because you talk big. We might not keep a tally, but we’re not people to fuck with either.” 

 

The girls exchanged a brief and silent conversation among themselves. 

 

“You leave all the supplies you can spare and the truck, and we’ll take your friend with us,” Lily said. James and Sirius both audibly scoffed.

 

“Fat fucking chance,” said James, at the same time Sirius said, “are you fucking mental?”

 

“Look, it’s not up for negotiation,” Lily said. “You said you stole the truck to get your friend to the Burrow. Well, we’re going to the Burrow. You seem strong enough to walk the rest of the way, and since you’re so certain they’ll be able to patch him right up, you can just meet up with him there. No fuss, no muss.”

 

“Out of the question,” said James, pulling himself away from her gun in a swift motion and turning to face her. She startled, but quickly recovered, putting the muzzle right above the bridge of his nose. James didn’t so much as flinch. “We’ll help you out with supplies, but we keep the truck, end of discussion.” 

 

“Counter offer,” said Lily, snarling down at James. “You give us everything we ask for and I won’t shoot you in the fucking head.” 

 

“What do you even need the truck for? Four hundred and seventeen, remember? That’s an impressive tally. You can make it on foot just fine,” Sirius said.

 

“Just because we can doesn’t mean we want to,” said Dorcas.

 

“Yours is the only working car we’ve seen for weeks. All the others are either siphoned out or buried underneath Chompers. We’re not letting you just drive off,” Marlene added.

 

“This conversation is taking a lot of valuable time, and wasting a lot of gas. Isn’t the simple solution that we all take the truck?” 

 

Sirius didn’t even need to see the look of incredulity James shot at him to realize his mistake. Assuming they could trust these girls—which, of course, nothing about this encounter so far had given any reason to do so—there was still the small problem that their truck was currently being driven by a sentient Deadhead. 

 

“Like we would trust you,” said Lily with a laugh, not noticing Sirius’ flush of horror as he tried to think of how to backtrack.

 

“Funny, coming from the girl with a gun to my head,” said James, but Lily ignored him.

 

“There’s no way in Hell we’re going to hitch a ride with some strangers,” she said, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel relieved to be let off the hook from his impulsive lack of thought—a feeling that was quite short lived, as Lily then added, “Dorcas, pull the others from the truck. I’m getting tired of the runaround.” 

 

Without waiting for an order, Marlene was up against Sirius in an instant, pulling him into a headlock with her gun poised underneath his chin. Lily knocked James back down onto the ground and dug her heel into his chest, still pointing her weapon at his head. Dorcas went to the passenger side of the truck and threw open the door, her own gun grasped in her hand. 

 

First she pulled out Peter, who was too weak to even catch himself, and crumpled with a grunt into a heap on the dusty ground. She kicked him once in the side, and Peter stared uselessly up at her, saying nothing, remaining still. Obviously not a threat, she left him there unguarded as she went to the driver’s side and yanked it open. She grabbed ahold of Remus’ elbow and tried tugging him out. He resisted, holding onto the steering wheel, pulling away. His Deadhead body stronger than hers, he started toward the passenger side, where the door was still ajar, but Dorcas reached out before he could get there, and, trying to get a grasp on some part of him, she took a hearty handful of the veil that hid a multitude of secrets. With Remus pulling one way, and Dorcas pulling the other, the veil slipped right off his face. They both stilled.

 

The veil slid out of Dorcas’ hand and floated down into the dirt where it lay forgotten. When she had processed what she was seeing, she gave a small yelp and jumped backwards, away from the truck, both hands now on her gun, shaking. Her eyes wide. Lily and Marlene couldn’t see what had frightened her, but Sirius and James knew without a doubt—Remus had been revealed. 

 

“What is it?” asked Marlene over Sirius’ head.

 

For a moment Dorcas seemed at a loss for words. She made a strange guttural sound that appeared to be her starting and stopping a sentence several times, before finally spitting out with a single gulp of air, “they have a Chomper! A Flesh Biter! They've got one right here inside their truck!”

 

Whatever Marlene and Lily were expecting to hear, that wasn't it. Both of their heads snapped over to look at Dorcas, and Marlene’s grip around Sirius’ neck loosened unconsciously. Sirius seized the opportunity and slipped out of her arms and pulled her into his chest. With a tight squeeze around her wrist, he managed to slacken her grasp on her gun and it clattered down onto the ground out of her reach. Sirius held her head precariously in his hands. “If you don't get that gun off my friend right this second I'll twist her neck off,” he said to Lily, turning Marlene's head a little too far to the right to make his point. Marlene fought against him, but couldn’t match his strength.

 

“What's this about a Flesh Biter in your truck?” asked Lily, sounding a bit hysterical. She kept glancing back and forth between Sirius and to where Remus still sat, hidden behind the tinted windshield.

 

“Put the gun down first,” said Sirius. He nodded at Dorcas. “You too. Put the guns down and we'll explain.”

 

“ _ Why do you have a Flesh Biter _ ?” Lily all but shrieked.

 

“ _ Put down the guns _ ,” said Sirius.

 

“Fuck that!” yelled Marlene, trying to bang her head against Sirius’ chest.

 

Dorcas, not taking her frightened eyes off the driver’s side open door, added, “I'm about to put a bullet right through this monster’s head if someone doesn’t start talking right this second.”

 

“Don’t let her shoot him,” Peter said weakly to Sirius as he struggled to push himself into a sitting position. 

 

“You pull that trigger, and Marlene dies,” said Sirius, digging his nails into her skin.

 

“You leave even one mark on her and this guy gets left for the buzzards and the Chompers,” said Lily, pressing her heel down harder.

 

“Maybe I should explain,” came Remus’ muffled voice from inside the truck. Everyone turned to look. He crawled over and peeked his head outside the door, just a little. Dorcas took an involuntary step back even further, while straightening her elbows so far out that her arms and the gun were practically at a perfect 90 degrees from her torso. Remus held up his hand. “It'd be greatly appreciated if you didn’t shoot me,” he told her. “Not to sound like a B-list scifi movie, but,” he put a hand on his chest and said in mock sincerity, “I come in peace.”

 

Dorcas stared, seemingly frozen in place. Marlene let loose a few mumbled swears underneath her breath, while Lily audibly sucked in a heavy breath through her nose.

 

“What,” Lily said after no one else spoke, “the fuck are you?”

 

At Lily’s voice, Remus seemed to startle. He looked to her and furrowed his brow. At first he just seemed puzzled, and then, slowly, a smile began to bloom across his ashen face.

 

“Well I'll be damned,” he said, shaking his head. “Small fuckin’ world. Evans? Lily Evans?” 

 

It was though Lily had been electrocuted. She jolted back, dropping her gun to the side. James didn’t even bother to pull himself up. Everyone was staring between her and Remus, baffled.

 

“How do you know my name?” she asked, her voice quiet and trembling. This was not, Sirius figured, what she had expected to happen when she had jumped from those bushes and in front of their truck.

 

“Took me a second to recognize you,” said Remus, like he had just ran into an old aquaintance at the market. He stepped out of the truck all the way now. Dorcas did nothing; no one did. “Sorry, and no offense, but it’s been a while and I'm used to seeing you, you know, showered. But you're definitely Lily Evans alright. A dirty, terrifying Lily Evans.” When Lily didn’t return any of the casual familiarty, he clarified, “You used to sit front left in Binns’ lecture class on medieval literature, right next to me, remember? We’d try and get each other in trouble by making stupid jokes? You brought lunch to class every day, even though we weren’t supposed to have food in the lecture hall, but Binns let you because you had top marks? You'd always share your crisps? Ring any bells?”

 

Lily stared so hard Sirius thought she might burn a hole through Remus’ skull. Finally, a dawning comprehension came over her. “Lupin,” she said so softly Sirius had to strain to hear. “Remus Lupin. My god.”

 

“Long time no see,” said Remus, crossing his arms. He seemed naturally nonchalant, but Sirius could see a tension begin to work itself from his shoulders. “I dunno about you, but my critical analysis on  _ The Canterbury Tales _ is suuuuper late.”

 

Lily let out a huff of breath that may of been an attempt at a laugh, but she was still too stricken to do much else but stare. She turned, for just a moment, to Dorcas. She nodded at her to lower her weapon. After several beats of hesitation, she did. Sirius followed suit by letting Marlene go. He backed off from her, and went over to help Peter to his feet. Peter slumped against the side of the truck, with Sirius holding him up by the elbow. No one did anything for a very long, uncomfortable minute.

 

“I don't understand,” said Lily, once again breaking their silence. “How did you…? What…?” she trailed off.

 

“Oh it’s no big deal. Let’s be real, I’ve always been dead inside; now the flesh just reflects the madness within,” said Remus. When no one laughed, he sighed and added, “really guys? I can’t be the only one who overcompensates with humor.”

 

“Maybe just tell your story, mate,” Sirius called over to him, while James rolled his eyes.

 

“Buzzkills,” Remus muttered, but he told his story anyway. With his new audience members rapt with attention, he explained everything that he had told Sirius and James the night before; the bite, the turn, and the exile into the woods. 

 

“So there are like,  _ more _ of them like you out there?” Marlene asked, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

 

“Trying not to take offense,” said Remus. “But yeah. Or at least one other like me, 'sfar as I know.” He pointed to the endlessly festering wound on his neck to remind them about Greyback.

 

“Where do these three come in, then?” asked Lily, her voice steady and authoritative, but still looking visibly shaken.

 

“These assholes?” Remus asked, gesturing at James, Sirius, and Peter. “They dragged me into their drama with a sob story and a heap of guilt.”

 

“The Deadheads don't respond to him,” James explained to the girls’ looks of confusion. “He’s helpful when it comes to protection.”

 

“They're using me as a shield,” Remus clarified.

 

“Wait wait wait,” said Marlene, holding up a hand. “What does that mean? Are you saying he can just walk into Chomper territory with no consequences?”

 

“I'm right here, you know? You can just ask me,” said Remus, but James answered for him anyway.

 

“That's how we managed to get the truck. We broke into this farm that had been totally infiltrated—”

 

“—yes,  _ we _ broke into a farm—”

 

“—and he was able to get past all of them and hold them back until Sirius here,” he nodded at his friend, “was able to get ahold of the truck.”

 

The girls all looked at each other in another silent conversation. After a moment they all nodded, apparently coming to some sort of unspoken agreement, and turned back to the boys.

 

“We want to come with you,” Lily said to James, who scoffed.

 

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you recently have a gun to my head?”

 

Lily waved a dismissive hand. “Stop living in the past,” she said.

 

“It was ten minutes ago,” said James, but she ignored him.

 

“Look, we're all trying to get to the same place,” she said. “We're safer together.”

 

“I thought you couldn't trust us,” said Sirius. “And why the hell should we trust you?”

 

“We don't have to be friends,” said Lily. “Just allies.”

 

“We're strategists,” Marlene added. “We can calculate our risks. You have an asset we don't. It's worth the risk.”

 

“Oh, am I the asset?” Remus deadpanned. “Goody.”

 

“Why don't you just kill us and take Remus?” asked James.

 

“Again, I am  _ right here _ ,” said Remus.

 

“Because I already told you,” said Lily. “We're not killers.” She crossed her arms and met James’ eye. “You were ready to help me when you thought I was out here alone and in need of help. Well, I lied about being alone, but not about needing help. Let us come with you. No one has to give up anything. No one has to get hurt.”

 

James seemed uncertain, and Lily determined, and the two groups stared at one another at an impasse.

 

“Ground rules,” said James bluntly. “Peter's health comes first; it's our main priority, and if you're with us, it's going to be yours as well.” Lily nodded. “Second, if we get even an inkling that you're trying to con us, I’m shoving an arrow straight through your heart, I don't care how human you are.”

 

“Ditto,” said Marlene with crossed arms. James glanced at her and nodded.

 

“And lastly, you tell  _ no one _ about Remus. We hide him from anyone we meet on the road. No one at the Burrow can know about him. If we come across your long lost aunt, you keep your damn mouth  _ shut _ . He's risking his...well... he's risking all that he has for us, and we're all going to respect that.”

 

“Shucks, James, I always knew you cared,” Remus said, but Sirius didn't miss the genuine surprise that washed over his face at James’ words.

 

“I thought we were just using him,” Dorcas said, eyeing Remus with a weary indignation. “Once we get to the Burrow what difference does it make if other people know about him?”

 

“Because they'll kill him,” said Sirius with a scowl.

 

“Maybe not. Besides, isn't it our duty to tell the others?” asked Marlene. “I mean, if there are Chompers out there like him, shouldn't they know? What if we could use it to our advantage? Imagine it, a clan of Flesh Biters to protect the Living.”

 

“You'd risk Remus for that?” asked Sirius.

 

Marlene countered, “I told you, our risks are calculated. If one Flesh Biter dies in an attempt to save the Living, isn't that worth it?”

 

“Ok, if I have to remind you guys that I am RIGHT HERE one more time, I'm just gonna go rogue and start biting people.”

 

“No you aren't,” James said without even looking at him. “And if you three want anything to do with us, you'll treat Remus like your own. No buts about it. Either you all pitch in to keep him safe, or we can go back to fighting for this truck.”

 

“We're not going to hurt Remus,” said Lily, her voice quiet, but with a hint of authority that made her two friends straighten their backs. She looked over at Remus. She held his gaze for a moment, uncertain, before saying, “Binns was the worst lecturer at the whole university.”

 

“I always used to sit in his class wishing I was dead,” said Remus. “If there is a higher power, I would like to clarify that I never meant it literally, and that from now on I will choose my wishes more carefully.”

 

Lily smiled. It was just a ghost of one, but it was there. She turned back to her friends, and reiterated, this time with more confidence,

 

“We're not going to hurt Remus.” 

 

Her friend didn’t seem convinced, but neither did they object. Lily held a hand out to James. “Allies?” she asked. 

 

James regarded her outstretched hand for a moment. He cast a look over his shoulder at Sirius and Peter leaning against the truck. Sirius gave him the smallest nod, and it was all James needed. He turned back to Lily and took her hand in his.

 

“Allies.”

 

—-

 

Cramming three other people and all of their stuff inside the cab of the truck was a harder endeavor than Sirius anticipated. A few of the bigger items like tents, or things they had duplicates of, got put into the cargo bed, but with supplies limited, and trust not fully gained, no one was eager to part with their belongings. 

 

“Dear God,” Marlene said when she got inside the truck. “It smells like death in here. What is that?”

 

“The previous owner,” Sirius told her, and that was the last complaint anyone had.

 

The girls stuffed themselves in the tiny backseat, their bags piled on their laps and their legs smushed together, while the boys sat, similarly situated, up in the front. The only one with any sort of leg room was Remus, which, given that he had considerable less physical sensation than the rest of them, seemed unfair. But it made more sense to have a driver who never got tired, so no one objected. 

 

“If the maps the Prewett brothers have been leaving are accurate, we should be able to get to the Burrow by morning, if we drive straight through,” said Remus, starting back down the road once everyone was settled. Night had fallen some time ago, but they still had several hours of darkness ahead of them. “The gasoline consumption on this thing isn’t great, but there’s a container in the back that should keep us going until we get there. If not, we can find a town and I can try and siphon some gas from somewhere Heartbeaters haven’t been able to get to, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

 

“What does everyone know about the Prewett brothers?” asked Lily. “I mean, I know we all have heard about the Burrow, but they leave all kinds of different messages. Maybe some of us have heard or found differing information.”

 

“We found the first note in a busted down warehouse just outside of Glasgow,” said James. “All it said was ‘ _ We’re Gideon and Fabian Prewett. We’re brothers in south England, and we and our family offer safe haven. _ ’ And then attached was a map to a rural plot of land somewhere in Devon.”

 

“We ignored it at first, of course,” Sirius said. “We’d been trekking up north for ages. Peter’s parents lived somewhere in northern Scotland, and we were trying to get to them, plus we heard through the grapevine that the majority of the attacks had been in England, and that the rest of the UK might not be as bad. But of course gossip like that travels fast, and suddenly pretty much everyone was trying to go north. So many of the roads were blocked, either by traffic or patrol officers, or they were infiltrated. Just getting across the border was hell. We kept getting delayed; took us months when it should have been days—at one point we ended up in a refugee center for weeks, until someone left a door unlocked and infection broke out and we had to leave. So you can imagine we weren’t too keen on heading back down south after all that at the word of some strangers.”  

 

“We were headed north too,” said Dorcas. “I met these two on the road, actually. I’d lost my family trying to get out of Wales. I lived in the far eastern part of the country, and it was practically barricaded with Chompers. We’d heard people saying—you know, before the broadcasts cut out—that London was setting up safe houses, and we decided to make a try for it. That’s where we were headed before they got bitten. I just kept going; I mean, what else was I going to do? That’s when I ran into Marlene and Lily. It took a lot of arguing, but eventually they convinced me not to go to London.”

 

“We’d just come from there,” Lily explained. “I’d heard the rumors too. I was on my own for a while, but I never was a big frequenter of London, and I couldn’t navigate it for shit, but my town was essentially deserted and I was running out of options, so I thought I’d try it. Big mistake on my part, since all London ended up being was a big Flesh Biter breeding ground. I met Marlene when a group of Chompers cornered me down an alleyway somewhere on Queensway. We ended up getting chased down to the underground, and nearly died of dehydration after getting locked up in an abandoned train. We only survived because some stupid kids, clearly thinking they were going to save the world, came down to the tube station and just started shooting left and right.”

 

“They got mauled, obviously, but it was enough of a distraction for the Chompers that we were able to sneak our way back out,” said Marlene. “It was really quick thinking on Lily’s part, honestly. I was half delirious and not being a lick of help, but she just took full intitative and pried open the doors to the train, and right outside there was a nice big pool of Chomper guts and gore, and she starts rubbing it all over herself. I thought she’d gone mad, but then she started rubbing it on me and told me to run as fast as I could.”

 

“You cut the Deadheads off from your scent,” said Remus, sounding impressed. “Nice thinking.”

 

“Yeah, I guess the Chompers function largely by smell,” said Marlene.

 

“Can confirm,” Remus said. Everyone just pretended to not be uncomfortable by that.

 

“We met Dorcas when we found her pulling a Flesh Biter’s head clean off with a long copper wire,” said Marlene with a grin. Dorcas was short and tiny, and the mental image of her yanking off the head of anyone, Deadhead or not, was enough for Sirius to make a mental note not to ever cross her. 

 

“I’m pretty sure you literally said ‘dibs,’ when we saw her doing that,” said Lily, and Marlene and Dorcas laughed. “But after that, we decided to get the fuck outta dodge. We started up north, and from there our story is pretty similar to yours. We didn’t actually find a Prewett letter until after we’d already heard about them. Some group invited us to go with them to the Burrow, and we had no idea what they were talking about so we just...well…”

 

“Robbed them,” Marlene supplied helpfully.

 

“Just of a few things,” Lily said. “But then a few weeks later we found one of the first Prewett letters, and after that we just kept finding them. We were on the fence about going until this latest one—the one about the rendezvous, did you see that?” The boys all nodded. “We figured that they must have something planned if they’re trying to get everyone together. And if not, then at least there’d be strength in numbers; if we could get with a bunch of other Heartbeaters we’d have a much easier go of it.”

 

“What about you guys?” asked Marlene. Sirius glanced at Peter, who had his eyes closed, but was clearly just pretending to be asleep. Sirius spared him the unpleasantness of having to explain.

 

“We decided to first finish what we were doing originally—you know, finding Peter’s parents. It, uh, didn’t end well,” he said delicately, and he knew he wouldn’t have to get any more specific than that. The Pettigrews lived in a small village with a handful of other middle aged to elderly couples, and when the trio had gotten there, they found every single one of them had turned. Peter had shown an uncharacteristic sense of dominance, and insisted on being the one to put his parents down.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Lily. Sirius never much cared for condolences. When his grandmother had passed, everyone at the funeral had offered up apologies to him, as though they were at fault. He simply didn’t understand it. Nowadays, however, ‘I’m sorry’ never sounded like, ‘you’ve lost someone, and I’m not sure what to say.’ What it sounded like now was, ‘I know exactly how you feel, because I feel it too.’ And he didn’t doubt it. Everyone crammed inside that truck with him had lost, at the very least, someone. Grief was now as ordinary as hunger or tiredness. Sirius accepted the condolences on Peter’s behalf, and saved some of it for himself. 

 

“To answer your original question,” said James, changing the subject. “We honestly know fuck all about the Prewetts.” He didn’t sound pleased with this information. In fact, his tone held a dose of skepticism that Sirius found frustrating.

 

“I’m sure it’s just because they’re protecting themselves,” he said, casting a significant look at James.

 

“They’re inviting all the Living into their home, though,” said Dorcas. “What is there to protect if they’re letting themselves be that vulnerable?”

 

“Maybe being on their home turf makes them more secure?” Sirius suggested.

 

“It also can’t be the Prewett brothers alone leaving all the messages,” Lily said. “Think about it—there are notes left all over the UK, and they show up all the time. Two men alone wouldn’t be able to do that; not do that and maintain a safe haven. It seems more to me like there are multiple people involved in whatever this is, and Gideon and Fabian may just be figureheads of a...I don’t know, an organization of sorts.”

 

“Do you think it’s a recruitment?” asked James. “Like, they’re going to try and get us to join in on a War Against the Zombies, or something?”

 

“I think,” said Lily slowly. “That I really don’t know the answer. These days, nothing is certain, and everything is possible. The only thing I do know is that I miss society. And I don’t mean like, wifi and electricity and those sorts of things. I mean, I miss having a sense of community, and collaboration, and  _ trust _ . It’s hard to be alone out here, and the Prewett brothers are presenting the first tangible possibility at a rebuilding of the world we’ve lost, and I think that’s worth it.”

 

“Calculated risk,” said Marlene. “Living in this world means every decision you make is a calculated risk.”

 

—-

 

Sirius blinked himself awake. To his left, James was snoring lightly, his head lulled against Peter who was breathing heavily through his mouth. He glanced in the backseat to where all three girls slept, curled uncomfortably around each other. Sirius turned to Remus.

 

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked softly, so as not to disturb the others.

 

“It’s been a few hours,” said Remus. “You slept through a tank refill, and also a potty break, which, by the way, is something I never realized the inconvenience of until I didn’t have to do it anymore.”

 

“I’m not usually a heavy sleeper.”

 

“You also have barely slept in two days,” Remus reminded him. “Don’t worry, no one died while you were unconscious. I do think you drooled on my shoulder at one point, though, so that’s pretty gross.” Sirius brushed the back of his hand against his mouth and mumbled an apology while Remus laughed.

 

“How much further?” Sirius asked.

 

“Dunno, exactly. The route the Prewett’s laid out is all over the place. My guess it’s been designed to avoid the most dangerous parts of the country, but it makes guessing time kinda difficult. I’ve never driven these roads before. What I wouldn’t do for some goddamned GPS.”

 

“Have we come across any Deadheads? I mean, I feel like I probably would have woken up for that, but…”

 

“A few, yeah, but no big packs, and none on the road. Or, at least none on the road that I couldn’t easily avoid. Haven’t had to break out the machete once, I’m happy to say.”

 

“Nice to go a few hours without killing anything,” said Sirius, and Remus glanced at him.

 

“Even if it’s a Flesh Biter?” he asked, turning back and staring determinedly at the road.

 

“Well, I mean, yeah,” said Sirius. “If it were up to me I wouldn’t kill anything. You just, I don’t know, do what you gotta do sometimes, you know?” He paused. “Does it bother you at all? I mean since...since you know what it’s like to be...I mean...is it hard?”

 

Remus tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You do what you gotta do,” he said.

 

“That doesn’t really answer the question.”

 

“Yeah, well, I dunno what you want me to say.” Sirius waited for him to go on, and Remus sighed. “Do you want me to say that it’s fun killing people who I know had no say in what happened to them? That I don’t feel guilty because their existence obviously means less than yours, or even mine, just because we are capable of abstract thought?”

 

“No,” said Sirius quietly. “I just want you to be honest.”

 

“Honestly? The morality of it kills me. Think about it: how would you feel if you were like me, stuck in some weird limbo between the heroes and the villains, and being able to sympathize with both sides?”

 

“Back at the farm though, with that gasoline or kerosene or whatever it was, you killed all those Flesh Biters. You chose the Living over the Dead.”

 

“Partially,” Remus agreed. “I also couldn’t stomach the thought of them all stuck on some abandoned farm, wandering around with this aching need and no cognitive abilities to free themselves. Sometimes death seems preferable; killing seems like mercy.”

 

“That sounds like you’ve already picked a side on the morality issue, then. For what it’s worth, it’s the same one we’re on too.”

 

For a long while, Remus said nothing. They drove in silence, up and down hilly, unused backroads, while the hint of light began to show up along the horizon. Morning was coming, and the Burrow would soon no longer just be a rumor. Sirius settled back against his seat, assuming his conversation with Remus had ended. But then Remus spoke.

  
“Maybe we have picked a side, and maybe we just have to stick to our guns and keep moving forward like we have been,” he said, and he took his eyes off the road completely to meet Sirius’ gaze. He shook his head slightly. “But what happens if we’re wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit nuggets, an update! sorry i'm always the worst at consistency, but i promise this isn't abandoned (and if you're reading my other piece, everthing's connected, that is also not abandoned), i just have a lot of Life happening, and a wealth of other excuses. i dunno when the next chapter will be posted, but i will try my hardest to make it soon. thank you so much for reading. come join my little corner of the fandom at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our heroes arrive at the burrow. but what is there waiting for them? :o

The signs started showing up just after sunrise. “Yes, you’re going the right way. Burrow up ahead!” and “You’ve made it this far without getting eaten? Fantastic! Safe haven just up over that hill!” and things of that nature were painted in red on pieces of wood and hammered into the ground on stakes along the highway. A growing apprehension formed in Sirius’ belly the closer they got. What if it all was a scam? He really didn’t know how, or even if, he would handle another disappointment.

 

But as apprehensive as he was, it was clear that Remus was even more so. His hands were clenched so tightly around the wheel of the truck that Sirius could see his static veins popping up under his ashen skin.

 

“You’re really white-knuckling it there, mate, you okay?” he asked Remus.

 

“My knuckles have been white since I died,” said Remus, but without the usual smart-ass bite to his tone. He sighed. “Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

 

Did Deadheads feel adrenaline? Sirius found himself wondering, but decided now wasn’t the moment to ask.

 

“Nervous about the Burrow?” he asked instead.

 

“Nervous about the Burrow, sure,” Remus agreed. “Nervous about being in proximity to an untold number of Heartbeaters, all of who want to completely eradicate my species.” 

 

“Your species? You’re human. Or close enough, anyway.”

 

“Am I?” asked Remus, his own uncertainty seeping through, and Sirius didn’t know if he was meant to reassure him—didn’t know if it would be honest if he did.

 

“We aren’t marching up to the front door of the Burrow and introducing you as our pet Deadhead,” came James from the back, clearly eavesdropping. “I’ve been thinking about it. The signs say the Burrow is over the hill, so I say you get out and go hide before we cross over—lessens the chance that you’ll be seen. Then we’ll go scope it out, and if they seem like trustworthy blokes, we can consider our next moves; decide together if we want to let them in on our little secret. Sound good?”

 

“Anything that keeps me from having my head on a platter,” said Remus, but Sirius didn’t miss the forlorn look he made while staring blankly out the glass of the windshield. 

 

Not long after, they got to the stretch of road that sloped up a big, looming hill. “You’re almost there!” said the hand-painted sign in the overgrown grass at the base. Remus pulled the truck over to the side and put it in park. He turned so he could see everyone. “End of the road for me. Literally,” he said, and James nodded.

 

“We should figure out a way to find each other quickly,” said Lily. “In case something goes bad.”

 

“Or good,” added Sirius hastily. “I mean, we’ll need to find you if they turn out to be trustworthy. Who knows, the Prewett brothers seem pretty knowledgeable about this whole, you know, armageddon. Maybe they already know about the Flesh Biters like you.”

 

No one dignified that with a response.

 

“I’ll be along the treeline,” said Remus, pointing towards a small but dense collection of trees a football field’s length away. “I’ll feel more comfortable in the trees; it’s easy to hide there. But if you need me, just come and call my name. I’ll hear you.” He pointed to his ear to remind them all of his enhanced sense.

 

“Either way, we won’t leave you out there alone for long,” said James, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile at the hint of loyalty in his voice. You would never want James Potter on your bad side, but once he decided you were on his good side, you got everything he had to give. 

 

“Be careful,” said Lily. Beside her Marlene and Dorcas both avoided eye contact with Remus, as though his safety was of no real consequence to them, but didn’t want to admit it in front of their leader. Peter, lost in the midst of a deep fever sleep, was dead to the world. 

 

“I’m already dead,” Remus reminded Lily. “In some fucked up way that makes me immortal.” 

 

“But not invulnerable,” Lily countered, and James nodded heartily.

 

“She’s right,” he said. “Stay away from anyone aiming a weapon at your head, and one of us will come to check on you after nightfall.” 

 

Remus seemed taken aback by this concern for his safety, and Sirius was reminded once again, with a hint of guilt, that this man—if he even was a man?—hadn’t had anyone to care about him since this all began. Remus recovered quickly, however, and said, “Well that’s all well and good, but what about all of you? What happens if this Burrow place turns out to be, I dunno, a cannibalistic cult or something? I’d hate to think I’ve put in all this effort to save your arses only for you to be eaten by  _ Heartbeaters _ .” 

 

The pinch of genuine concern in his voice betrayed him, and Sirius realized that, in a very short period of time, they had become as much an intricate part of Remus’ life as he had become to theirs. The end of the world, he thought, did not allow for slowly built relationships. You were either allies or enemies, with no in between.

 

“How about this: If you don’t hear from one of us by tonight, after the moon is fully risen, you come and save our arses from whatever fresh hell the Burrow’s sucked us into,” said Sirius.

  
“Fine,” Remus agreed. “But if you just forget to come find me, and I go looking for you guys, only to get pitted against a bunch of angry Heartbeaters, I will eat all six of your guys’ brains.” 

 

“The Deadheads don’t even go for the brains, that’s just dumb, stereotyped lore,” said Marlene, rolling her eyes. “Every Deadhead I’ve met just goes for whatever they can sink their teeth into.”

 

“Don’t care; will eat your brains. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s well past time we stop idling and get a move on. I’m sure you’re all itching to know what this illusive Burrow is all about. I can’t wait to hear about all the camaraderie and acceptance you’ve found with your renewed sense of community while I was sitting in a tree. I’ll see one or several of you when the moon’s risen.” He opened the driver’s side door and hopped out of the truck. He held onto the door and hesitated. “Be safe,” he added quickly. The door shut with a slam. Remus headed towards the trees.

 

—-

 

The sudden absence of Remus made Sirius feel disjointed, as though the actual atmosphere inside the truck had shifted. For a few silent moments, the driver’s seat remained empty, until both Lily and James started climbing up from the back to take over. They bumped shoulders in between the front seats, and furrowed their brows at one another.

 

“I’ve got it,” said Lily.

 

“No, I can drive, it’s fine,” said James.

 

“Honestly, I’m more than capable of driving over a hill.”

 

“Yes, well so am I.” 

 

They continued to stare at each other. Sirius rolled his eyes, unfastening his seatbelt as he said, “ _ I’ll _ drive.” He climbed over into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. Lily and James both scowled as they slid back into their spots. Sirius ignored them. He ran his hands around the wheel and took a breath. 

 

“Moment of truth,” said Dorcas, voicing what Sirius was feeling. Everyone took a minute to let this soak in. Finally, Sirius put the truck in drive.

 

“We’re not gonna find anything out by sitting here wondering about it,” he said, pulling back onto the road. 

 

The ride to the top of the hill probably took a few seconds at most, but it felt like an eternity. They  reached the peak, and Sirius pressed down on the brake, giving them time to survey the scene before going in closer. The first thing he noticed were the tents. All across the barren field were more than a dozen white tents, all situated behind a tall, sturdy barbed wire fence.

 

Down the road, at the end of the hill’s slope, there was an entrance gate, which Sirius could see was being guarded by at least two people. By the looks of it, they had large guns slung across their shoulders. If they saw the gang’s approaching truck, they seemed indifferent towards it, as neither guard moved from their forward-facing stance. 

 

“Looks somewhat promising, yeah?” said Sirius, barely audible. “Looks like they’ve might got refugees.”

 

He heard noises of affirmation from the girls, but James said, “We’ll see. Let’s go to the gate.”

 

Trying to not be unnerved by James’ perpetual skepticism, Sirius let up on the brake, and let the truck roll forward down the hill. As they got closer, they were able to make out the guards more clearly. One was an almost inhumanly large man with an impressive tangle of wild, brown curls coming from his head as well as his face. He had a large overcoat hanging off his bulky frame, and his beady, black eyes squinted at the truck, but he did not move.

 

The other guard was not nearly as large as the other man, but was perhaps more intimidating, if only by the tremendous scowl he gave them. His hair was long and stringy, and he had a makeshift eyepatch made out of a handkerchief tied over his left eye, which was almost as jarring as the collection of deep, aged scars covering his face. By the looks of them, the man had received the initial wounds long before the infection had broken out. 

 

Sirius drew the truck to a stop right in front of the gate, and for a long, awkward moment, no one made any movements, all uncertain as to how to proceed. Then Sirius made eye contact with James in the rearview mirror, who nodded his head as he pulled a gun from one of the various hiding spots in the back. Sirius nodded back, and reached down in his boot to grab his knife.

 

“Sirius and I will get out and talk to them,” said James. Sirius saw Lily opening her mouth to protest, and quickly added,

 

“Lily, you get in the driver’s seat. If something goes awry we’ll need to be able to make a quick getaway.” 

 

Satisfied with this task, Lily closed her mouth and nodded her agreement. Sirius stole a glance at Peter, who was muttering incoherent syllables under his breath in his sick, fitful sleep, and that was all he needed to give him the courage to take the next step. He drew in a breath, and threw open the door, James following suit behind him.

 

The two stood side by side, facing the two guards, who said nothing and merely stared back, apparently waiting for them to speak.

 

“We were told, by word of the Prewett brothers, that we would be granted safe haven here,” said James without wavering at all. “Is this true?”

 

“Names and number of people in your party,” said the guard with the eyepatch. He had a stern and scratchy voice.

 

“James Potter,” said James. He paused, letting Sirius speak for himself, although he would have been more than okay if James did all the talking.

 

“Sirius Black,” Sirius said, hoping he sounded at least half as confident as James did. “There are seven people in our party.”

 

“Six,” James corrected quickly, shooting Sirius a look. Sirius flushed, but kept his face neutral.

 

“Six, that’s what I meant,” he said to the guards. He had accidentally counted Remus.

 

“Whereabouts are ye from?” asked the burly guard. He had a surprisingly kind tone.

 

“We’re from England, but we were in Glasgow first we heard word of the Burrow,” said James.

 

“Ye’ve traveled a long way, haven’t ye? Ye must be exhausted.” The burly guard gave them a sympathetic smile, but the guard with the eyepatch said sternly,

 

“We don’t allow anyone to have more than one weapon at a time. That’s rule number one. We know you won’t give up all your weapons, but we want to minimize the damage, so you’re to confiscate all additional weapons to the gatekeepers—that’d be us—and we will store them for you. You’re welcome to collect them at the time of your departure. If we see you with more than one weapon per individual at anytime it is grounds for expulsion from the establishment.”

 

“Oh don’t be so harsh with ‘em, Moody, ye could at least welcome them before ye threaten ‘em with expulsion from the grounds.”

 

“As I’ve said before, we’re not here to be a welcome mat, Hagrid,” said the guard named Moody, not taking his single eye off of James and Sirius. “We know nothing about these folks, or what their true motives are. What have I told you to remember?”

 

“Constant vigilance?” asked the guard named Hagrid.

 

“Constant vigilance!” Moody stepped forward so his face was nearly touching the barbed wire and he bore into the duo with such intensity, Sirius became irrationally concerned that he  _ was _ up to no good. “What you’ve read is true,” said Moody. “The Burrow offers safe haven to any and all Breathers who’ve managed to keep their organs inside their bodies thus far. But there are conditions, and there are expectations, and while there may be softies like Hagrid here who will want to fix you a bed and fluff all your pillows for you, I’ll let you know that I do  _ not _ trust easily.”

 

James puffed out his chest, and said with gusto, “Neither do we.”

 

Moody smirked, either impressed or amused, Sirius couldn’t tell. He took a step back from the gate. “We’ll need to take down each of your names individually, and get your signatures. Hagrid here will then lead you to the designated carpark, and then to the house, where you’ll be given a rundown of all the rules and regulations, and assigned a tent.”

 

“Er, ye fergot to ask about injuries,” said Hagrid with a nervous look at his fellow guard. Moody rolled his eyes.

 

“Right, right,” said Moody. “Do any of you have any injuries or illnesses that require immediate attention? They make me ask,” he clarified, as though making sure they understood that it wasn’t out of any genuine concern of his that they be healthy.

 

“Our friend,” said Sirius quickly. “Peter’s his name. He’s really sick.” 

 

Moody sighed, picking up one of several clipboards hanging off the barbed wire fence. “Sick with what?” he asked dully.

 

“Dunno. Seems like pneumonia or something,” said Sirius, and James nodded.

 

“Do you have medicine? Antibiotics?” he asked. 

 

“Not our purview,” said Moody, scribbling something down on a piece of paper with a stubby pencil, and then thrusting the pencil at Hagrid. “You’ll take your friend to see Molly. She’s a healer, she’ll assess what she can or can’t do for your friend.” Moody picked up another clipboard and looked up expectantly at the duo. “Now, get all your able-bodied people out here, and let’s take names. And get all your weapons. One per person, no exceptions.”

 

—-

 

“It seems legit,” said Lily with a tentative bit of hope. They had all given their names to Moody, and were now crammed back inside their truck, while Sirius drove slowly behind Hagrid who was leading them to the carpark. 

 

“That Moody is a right piece of work,” said Marlene.

 

“Hagrid seems alright, though,” added Dorcas.

 

“I don’t like that they took our weapons,” Marlene complained for the second time.

 

“Makes sense though,” said James, who Sirius was sure wasn’t any happier about the situation as Marlene, but who could see the logic in the situation. “A camp full of battle-hardened people equipped with whole armories? That’s just asking for trouble. Besides, so long as we keep together, that’s six weapons between us. We’ll be fine.”

 

James seemed a bit cheerier now that they had made it through the gates and the Burrow was a lot more a reality than a pipe dream. 

 

“What’d they say about Peter?” asked Lily.

 

“I guess they’ve got someone here who deals with injuries and illnesses,” said Sirius from the driver’s seat, pulling into an empty space Hagrid was pointing him towards, among a small collection of cars in various states of disrepair. “Some woman named Molly?”

 

“Hear that, Pete?” said James, reaching across the girls to smack Peter on the arm. Peter had woken up and seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on. “We’ve found you a doctor.” Peter mumbled something that may have been a sound of joy, but it was hard to tell.

 

Sirius parked the car and pocketed the key. All but Peter gathered up their supplies and clambered out of the truck to where Hagrid was waiting. 

 

“Peter may need help,” said Sirius, pointing to where Peter was slumped against his window, face pressed against the glass.

 

“No problem, I got ‘em,” said Hagrid, walking over and carefully opening Peter’s door and collecting him into his arms. Hagrid carried him easily, as though he weighed about the same as a bag of feathers.

 

“Molly’ll be in the house,” said Hagrid. “That’s where you lot need to get, anyway, so we’ll all go together.”

 

And so they let Hagrid lead the way, trailing behind him in silence, all of them taking in their surroundings. Sirius caught sight of a few people moving about in the distance, but for the most part everything was still. He smelled something bizarre, and it took him a minute to realize it was food—actual food, being cooked properly. He couldn’t remember the last time he smelled something pleasant.

 

The smell grew stronger the closer they got to the house. The house itself was of a unique design. It was several stories high, and crooked, as though it was one good storm away from toppling over. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and next to the side of the house there was an older woman in a stocking cap and mittens stirring a large vat of what appeared to be porridge over a fire pit. She waved at Hagrid as they walked past.

 

“New ones this morning, Hagrid?” she said, eyeing the group.

 

“Ay, Mrs. Figg,” said Hagrid. “This lot’s been all over the UK from the looks of it, just tryin’ to get some refuge.”

 

“Poor dears,” said Mrs. Figg. “Well, tell you what, get all the formalities out of the way inside, and I’ll save you some extra helpings of breakfast.”

 

They all smiled tightly and gave muted thank yous, not quite remembering how to be a recipient of hospitality, as Hagrid led them up a stoop and through the front door. Immediately, two small, freckled, ginger boys ran up to meet them. 

 

“Who’ve you got there, Hagrid?” the older of the two asked excitedly. He was missing both of his front teeth.  “Are they  _ Deadhead fighters? _ ”

 

“These are just some tired people who came to us for help, Bill,” said Hagrid, gripping Peter with one arm, and ruffling the boy’s hair with the other.

 

The smaller of the boys stared wide-eyed up at them all, taking in their ragged clothes and various weapons hanging off their backs. He seemed particularly interested in James’ bow and arrow slung over his shoulder. “Have you killed Deadheads with that?” he asked incredulously. 

 

“Hush now, Charlie,” said Hagrid, giving a kind reprimanding. “They don’t wanna talk about that right now. You two be good lads and go an’ find Mr. Dumbledore and tell ‘em we’ve got some new ones, and then find yer mom and tell her we’ve got someone for her to take to the infirmary.” 

 

“Okay, Hagrid,” said the two boys in unison, and they scuttled off to some other part of the house the group couldn’t see. 

 

Hagrid took them to what probably once had been a dining area, but had been transformed into an office, with folders in piles along the walls, and boxes with different people’s names on it, which Sirius guessed was where they put all the confiscated weapons. In the middle was a truly gigantic table.

 

“Have a seat,” Hagrid offered. “Someone will be here shortly to—” 

 

“Oh look at that poor boy!” a plump, ginger woman with a swollen, pregnant belly interrupted Hagrid as she scurried into the room, entire focus already on Peter. She placed the back of her hand on Peter’s forehead and tsked. “Not good, no, not good at all,” she muttered. She turned to look at the rest of them. “How long has he been like this?”

 

“He developed a cough about a week ago. It’s just gotten worse from then,” said James.

 

The woman, who Sirius assumed was Molly, regarded James with a concerned look. “You’re unsteady on your feet,” she observed. “And that’s why, you’re keeping weight off that ankle there. Are you hurt as well?”

 

Sirius, who thought James’ limp had improved significantly, was impressed that Molly was able to pick up on his injury so quickly. His confidence in her rose tenfold. 

 

“Er, I twisted my ankle a while back, but it’s healing.”

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Molly. “Let me get this boy to the infirmary, and then I’ll have a look at your ankle. Your friend should be seen by Poppy, anyway, she’s three times the healer I am, she’ll know what to do to bring down the fever. Oh, hello Dumbledore.” Molly’s gaze suddenly landed behind them, and they all turned to see a tall man with a crooked nose, and a long beard, and longer hair, all pure white say for a few strands of auburn here and there. He was wearing a dressing robe that somehow seemed more fitting than a shirt and trousers would. 

 

“Hello, Molly,” said Dumbledore, and Sirius found he was instantly soothed by his voice. He spoke in a calm, confident manner, and that, in addition to his appearance, made him commandeer the entire room. His eyes fell on Peter, and he eyed him with something close to sorrow. “We’d best get him to Poppy, Hagrid,” he said.

 

“Yes, I agree,” said Molly. “I just hope we’ve got the proper supplies to care for him.”

 

“I am confident in the boy’s full recovery in your and Ms. Pomfrey’s capable hands,” said Dumbledore. Molly blushed, and nodded. She motioned for Hagrid to follow her, and the two headed out of the room.

 

Both James and Sirius started to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand to cut them off, and said, “I am sure you are concerned about the wellbeing of your friend, and I promise you’ll be shown to the infirmary to visit him shortly, but first we’ve got business to take care of. Please, sit.” They all stood still. Dumbledore smiled softly and took the seat nearest to him. Hesitating, all exchanging glances with each other, the group followed suit. 

 

“Where are the Prewett brothers?” asked James, and for the first time Sirius realized they had not heard a single word about the Prewett brothers since they’d arrived.

 

“Out recruiting for our rendezvous, I’m afraid. I should hope I am a somewhat suitable substitute in their absence,” said Dumbledore, still smiling. He adjusted his glasses, which were in the shape of half-moons. “You have already met a Prewett sister, however.” He gestured towards the door Hagrid and Molly had just left from.

 

“Molly?” asked Lily.

 

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Although she’s gone by the name of Weasley for some time now. If you’d believe it, her husband’s hair is redder than hers. I imagine their upcoming child will be just as ginger as their other two. Certainly distinctive, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Were the boys we met her kids, then?” asked Marlene.

 

“Oh yes. And nephews of the Prewett brothers—see, you may not have the brothers themselves, but you’ve got their family, which is the next best thing! Such clever boys, those Prewett nephews, although I dare say they’ve got wild streaks. Charlie, particularly, is always trying to make friends with the wildlife that lives nearby, much to Hagrid’s delight.” Dumbledore waved a hand, as though dismissing this particular train of thought. “Forgive me,” he said. “You’ve not come here to listen to an old man ramble. You’ve come, I feel I can safely guess, for safety.”

 

He waited a long moment for one of them to respond, so Sirius said, “Yes.”

 

“Excellent, well you’ve come to the right place. Although I am sure Alastor Moody did not neglect to tell you that the privilege of your stay here requires of you some certain, shall we say, expectations?”

 

“What kind of expectations?” asked James, hackles raised once again.

 

“Nothing I should think you would object to, my dear boy, and all in good time. First and foremost, let us get you familiar with the rules, and situated in your tent so you can get some rest. As for the aforementioned expectations, we’ve got a meeting tonight, at midnight, that I’d like you all to attend.”

 

“A meeting?” asked Marlene.

 

“For what?” asked Dorcas.

 

“All in good time,” repeated Dumbledore. “If it helps you feel more comfortable, let me say that you are not here by force, and you can leave at any time. Should you find our expectations unreasonable, you are free to go on your way. All I ask is that you stay long enough to hear them.” 

 

Sirius looked to James, and Marlene and Dorcas looked to Lily. Lily and James looked at each other, and seemed to come to a conclusion.

 

“We’ll stay to hear you out, but no promises,” said James.

 

“What are the rules, then?” asked Lily.

 

Dumbledore smiled wider at this display of solidarity. “They are quite simple,” he said. “You’ve already been told the weapon rule, and I should like to add that no weapons are to be used on another person while within the confines of this establishment, unless in reasonable self-defense. Any other harm caused to another is grounds for immediate and permanent banishment.

 

“Secondly, everything here is communal. You will use resources conservatively, because, as I am sure you are aware, resources are always sparse. We have teams that go and scour the nearby cities daily for goods, but with our growing numbers, that will only carry us so far. 

 

“You will be allotted three meals a day, and three only, and at the portion they are given to you. Exceptions to this rule may apply considering illness or considerable malnutrition. Clean-up of dishes is on a rotating basis, and you are expected to do your part.

 

“Lastly, you must now consider the care of everyone here partially your responsibility. I am sure you’ve traveled a hard road to get here, and are more than aware of all the dangers that lurk out there, but let me be the first to tell you that the world beyond our fence is even more terrifying than you could possibly understand right now, and with the human race dwindling at alarming rates, the protection of your fellow man is paramount. Understood?”

 

“Understood,” said Lily and James together, speaking for the rest of them.

 

“Excellent!” said Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. “Your assigned tent is number 24. It’ll be a tight fit, but it’s one of our larger ones, and I would hazard a bet that it’s better than some of the places you’ve stayed over the past few months. The tent is already stocked. If it pleases you, I will lead you up to the infirmary to verify that your friend is in fact receiving proper medical care, and then I encourage you to get some rest, and meet us here at midnight.”

 

There were no objections, and so Dumbledore took the group of them up a flight of winding stairs, and into a large room that looked like it used to be two, but had a wall knocked down to join them. There were several beds, many of them filled with Heartbeaters covered in bandages and blankets and strange smelling ointments. In the far corner was Peter, being fussed over by a woman dressed in white, while Molly stood beside her.

 

When they approached, the woman looked up and frowned. “What’s this, Dumbledore? My patients need to rest, they don’t need all these people in here making a ruckus.” 

 

Sirius was fairly certain they had made nothing close to resembling a ruckus, but still the woman—Poppy Pomfrey, Sirius inferred—stared them down as though they themselves were the bacteria infesting Peter’s lungs.

 

“These worried souls merely wanted to make sure their friend was in good hands,” said Dumbledore calmly. Molly smiled sympathetically at the group, but Poppy’s face did not soften.

 

“He’d be in better hands if the hands tending to him were able to work without interruption,” she said, turning back to Peter, adjusting a wet washcloth on his forehead. “Molly, hand me the paste, will you?”

 

Molly handed Poppy a jar of some green paste. She lifted Peter’s head and spoonfed him a dose of it.

 

“What is that?” asked James.

 

“Herbal remedy,” said Poppy without looking up, now putting a glass of water to Peter’s lips and helping him swallow.

 

“Herbal remedy?” scoffed James. “Haven’t you got any real medicine?” 

 

“Out,” said Poppy, pointing towards the door, eyes still on her patient.

 

“Yes, probably for the best,” said Dumbledore. He started to herd them towards the exit, but James was reluctant to move. “I assure you we will fetch you if there is any hint of a change in his condition,” promised Dumbledore, and James must have decided there wasn’t anything more he could do just standing there, and allowed himself to be coaxed back downstairs with the rest of them.

 

They were shown the way toward the tents, and Dumbledore left them to their own devices as they set off to find their assigned place. Mrs. Figg thrust bowls of porridge at them, which they took gratefully and ate while walking down rows of tents. The porridge had a hint of vanilla, and was a nice texture, and Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to actually  _ savor _ a meal. Hunger won out, however, and by the time they stood outside of tent 24, his bowl was empty.

 

The inside of the tent was full of mismatched blankets and pillows, and a bag labeled “hygiene supplies” that had some toothbrushes, dry shampoo, a bar of soap, and some disposable razors. It seemed like a goldmine. 

 

“Should someone keep watch?” asked Lily, as Dorcas and Marlene sifted through the blankets, and James inspected a jug of water that had been left for them.

 

“Do we need to?” asked Sirius, lowering himself to the ground and laying his head down on a pillow and marveling at how much more comfortable it was than the balled up t-shirts he’d been using.

 

“We still don’t really know them, do we?” said James.

 

“Constant vigilance!” Lily said, and they all laughed.

 

“You guys do what you want,” said Marlene, who was already burrowing under a blanket. “I’m going to get a proper sleep for once.”

 

Sirius had to agree with that sentiment, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he looked to James, who seemed conflicted over the prospect of putting his guard down versus the draw of an actual blanket and pillow.

 

“I mean, we’ve got weapons right?” said Lily, speaking mostly to James, as everyone else had already resigned themselves to a cozy nap. “If they wanted to fuck with us, we could take them easy, and it’s not like we have Deadheads to worry about. Not with that fence out there.”

 

“Right,” said James slowly, considering. He looked longingly at the pillow at his feet. 

 

“C’mon,” said Sirius from the floor to his friend. “We’ve been turned up to eleven for months. We all deserve a break.”

 

And although Sirius could still see the confliction on his face, James’ lowered himself to the floor, mirrored by Lily, and within minutes they all were in the deepest sleep they had been in since this all had begun.

 

—-

 

“Wake up,” came James’ voice. Sirius grumbled a bit, but James kept poking him in the side until he finally blinked his eyes open.

 

“What?” he asked, squinting up at his friend. It was no longer light out, he realized, the inside of the tent now illuminated by a single lantern. 

 

“It’s nearly midnight,” said James. “You’ve been asleep the entire damn day. Here, I got you some supper.” James handed him a bowl of some kind of pleasant smelling stew as Sirius pushed himself into a sitting position. The girls were all awake. Lily was pulling her hair back into a ponytail, and Marlene and Dorcas were tossing a squash ball back and forth idly.

 

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?” asked Sirius, rubbing at his sleep stained eyes.

 

“Because you needed it,” said James. “Don’t feel bad, I slept until nightfall, and Lily woke up an hour ago.”

 

Sirius grunted and took a bite of stew. It tasted like a gourmet meal in comparison to burnt chicken livers coated in taco seasoning. He gobbled it down while James gave him a rundown on everything he’d observed while SIrius had been asleep.

 

“I met a couple people,” he said. “I guess Dumbledore’s got a brother. Not quite as friendly, but seems like a decent bloke. The guy in the tent next to us is a twat. Missed his name, but he’s got this nasty, oily hair; worse than us, even.”

 

“He wouldn’t stop making eyes at me when I went out to find the loo,” said Lily with a sneer. 

 

“Yeah, he’s gross,” James agreed. “He shares a tent with this other arsehole, who’s this know-it-all bloke named Lockhart, who was insisting to me that he knows what started the whole infection, but couldn’t give any specifics. That’s all the people I’ve talked to, though, ‘cept Mrs. Figg, who is nice enough, and Hagrid, who I like the best I think.”

 

Sirius nodded, taking in the information. He finished off the last of his stew, just barely containing the impulse to lick the bowl clean. 

 

“If you’re done, then we should get going,” said Lily, checking her watch. “I want to be early, in case something fishy is going on.”

 

“I agree,” said James, getting to his feet. He held out a hand to Lily, who seemed surprised, but took it and let him help her up. The rest of them stood and one by one they exited the tent and walked back up to the house, where a severe looking woman with her hair in a perfect bun was waiting for them. 

 

“You’re the new ones,” she said rather than asked, checking a list she had on a clipboard in her hands. They didn’t bother to answer since it wasn’t a question. “I am Minerva McGonagall. Your tent is in the area of the camp that I am in charge of overseeing. I should hope that we will have no qualms with one another.” It sounded a bit like a threat.

 

“No qualms, ma’am,” said James steadily, matching McGonagall’s gaze. She seemed unconvinced.

 

“Dumbledore is expecting you inside,” she said, stepping aside so they could go through the door. 

 

The house was lit through with candles, and shadows danced along the walls. They went into the makeshift office where Dumbledore was sat at the head of the table, a few other people already there.

 

“Ah, excellent,” said Dumbledore when he saw them. “Have a seat, and let me introduce you. You already know Hagrid and Molly. This here is Arthur—I was right about the hair, wasn’t I—and this is Mundungus Fletcher, and next to him is, well, you already know Arabella Figg.”

 

The group nodded and gave mumbled introductions of themselves as they claimed vacant seats.

 

“We’ll begin in a moment, once the rest of The Order has arrived.”

 

“The Order?” asked Lily and James in unison, but Dumbledore offered no further clarification. A few minutes went by and a handful of people filtered in. Moody, from the front gate, came in and Sirius noticed for the first time that he walked with a pronounced limp. The greasy boy from the tent next to theirs came in and took a seat across from Lily, who frowned as he eyed her. Dumbledore introduced him as Severus Snape. Dumbledore’s brother didn’t even need to be introduced to Sirius, his resemblance to his brother was so striking, but Dumbledore introduced him anyway. Behind him came McGonagall, and she took the final seat.

 

“Yes, I believe this is it for tonight,” said Dumbledore, looking from one person to the next, making a count. “Dedalus and Sturgis have guard duty, and everyone else is on mission, so I believe we may begin. Obviously we have newcomers tonight, but before we get into that, are there any camp announcements, Minerva?”

 

“I received word from Pince that we are running low on bathroom tissue again, as well as disinfectants. We’ll have to let our next group know. I believe Figg wanted me to mention that we’re low on meat, again, so Mundungus, if you want to go hunting in the next day or so, that would be ideal. That’s all for tonight.”

 

“Thank you, Minerva,” said Dumbledore. He then turned his attention to the five of them. “I trust you had a nice rest today. We truly do offer this space up as a place for you to feel safety, which is a luxury that is hard to come by nowadays, I’m afraid, but like I said, there are certain expectations we ask of you in exchange.” Dumbledore did not speak as though he wanted them to contribute, so they all just sat and let him continue.

 

“The people you see before you, as well as a few who are not present, are our most able-bodied group of individuals. We are made up of what we have humbly dubbed The Order of the Phoenix. I have to admit that I was partial to that name, as I have always been partial to the symbolism of the phoenix.

 

“Now, you are probably asking yourself what the purpose of this Order is. To which I say, that is an excellent question, and I apologize in advance for the answer. 

 

“You will recall that this early afternoon I told you that the world is much more terrifying than any of you realize, and I would like to elaborate on that now. We are all, quite painfully, aware of the infection that has overtaken a vast majority of our population. What is not quite so common knowledge, however, is the origin of this infection, and what the future ramifications are to be if we do not take action.

 

“We have all thought about mortality in many contexts over the past few months. Our own mortality, the mortality of the infected, perhaps, even, the more philosophical view of, what even is mortality? Death is, after all, the anthesis of life, and it is sensible for a human being to fear something so final and unknown.

 

“To that end, I am here to tell you that there is a group of people who are so concerned with the prospect of death, that they are seeking to find an end to it. A death to death, if you will. This group of people, who have aptly named themselves the Death Eaters, led by one, very power hungry individual, will stop at nothing to find immortality, no matter the innocent lives put at risk for the search.

 

“These are not good people. These are people that desire control. This infection that has taken so much of what we used to know is not found in nature. It has been manufactured, and mutated, by these people, who, if given the opportunity, will use their knowledge to take control of not just the United Kingdom, but the entire world.”

 

Dumbledore paused, giving them a chance to take in what he had said so far.

 

“So you’re saying they made this infection for themselves? To find immortality?” asked Sirius.

 

“In the beginning, I believe that is what it was about,” Dumbledore said. “But when they saw the havoc it wreaked upon the population, their interests broadened. They are the keepers of the answers to how to cure this illness, and how to spread it until it’s far too late.”

 

“And so what is the Order trying to do?” asked James. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, soaking up every word.

 

“I figured it would be obvious,” said Dumbledore. “To stop them, of course.” 

 

A grin spread over James’ face. Lily was nodding her head in interest. Marlene and Dorcas were exchanging looks. Sirius just felt wary.

 

“Mr. Dumbledore! Mr. Dumbledore!” A man with a squeaky voice poked his head in the door, looking out of breath and wild. 

 

“Yes, Mr. Diggle?” 

 

“Sorry to interrupt sir, but I promise it’s important.” He stepped all the way in, and in his hand he pulled in a man by the back of his shirt. No, not a man, Sirius realized.  _ Remus _ .

 

“Oh fuck,” said Sirius and James together. Remus was staring hard at the ground. They had forgotten.  _ How _ could they have forgotten to meet Remus in the woods? With all the excitement, it had entirely slipped Sirius’ mind, and now here Remus was, clearly more loyal than any one of them, fulfilling his part of the bargain by making sure they were okay.  And as a result, outing himself to the entire Order.

 

There were collective gasps around the table. 

 

“What have we here?” asked Dumbledore, quite calmly.

 

“Found this  _ thing _ trying to sneak through the fence,” squeaked Mr. Diggle. “It can talk, if you can believe it, it can do all sorts of things. I would have blown its brains out, but, well, he said he was with them.” Diggle nodded towards the five of them, sitting guiltily at the table. “Figured you would wanna know about this, Mr. Dumbledore, sir.” 

 

Every eye in the room, say for Remus’, found the five of them. They exchanged glances with each other, but they were all unsure of how to react under the scrutiny. Finally, Sirius turned to Dumbledore.

 

“Give us five minutes,” he said. “And I promise we can explain.”

 

He just hoped it would be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the dealio:
> 
> i am attempting to get a handle on my WIPs, so between this and my other fic "everything's connected" i am going to try and have an update every sunday, alternating fics. so this week it's "cogito ergo sum," and next week it'll be "everything's connected." 
> 
> with that said, "cogito ergo sum" requires a lot more effort to write than "everything's connected," and the chapters are considerably longer, so we'll see how that goes. for now, that's the game plan.
> 
> so, following that schedule, next update should be up: 8/6/17 (or 6/8/17 for u european folks).
> 
> i will try my absolute damndest to be consistent. thank you so very very much for your continued patience. 
> 
> hmu at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com 
> 
> deuces


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen

All the present members of The Order had expressions varying between wary, to confused, to downright enraged, say for Dumbledore, and, surprisingly, McGonagall, although that may have just been because her usual expression was already so severe that it was hard to tell the difference.

 

“We aren’t really going to let them sit here and try to justify themselves?” said Snape, outraged. “They’ve already proved themselves as liars.”

 

“Well, now,” said Hagrid a bit warily. “Maybe we should at least give ‘em a chance to explain.” A few heads nodded uncertainly. Snape scoffed.

 

“We’ve got a genuine explanation, and if you’re truly looking for answers to this epidemic, then you’ll listen to us,” said Lily.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve bought into whatever these liars are selling,” said Snape.

 

“Where my loyalties lie are none of your concern,” Lily said haughtily, as James added, “I wouldn’t expect someone as thick as you to understand that nowadays, sometimes telling the truth can get you killed,” and Snape glared at the two of them.

 

“Surely there’s a better way to solve this than by arguing,” said Molly, flushed with a hand on her belly.

 

“I don’t trust them, Dumbledore,” Moody whispered, loud enough that everyone could hear, but clearly directed towards Dumbledore alone. “But given the circumstances…”

 

“I quite agree, Alastor,” said Dumbledore with an unwavering calm. He cleared his throat, and the rising bickering at the table silenced instantly. “My friends,” he said, “there is enough hatred in this world than to spend our time jumping to hasty conclusions. We will, indeed, hear this story in full before making any judgements. However—” and he looked purposely at Remus, who seemed to feel his eyes on him and looked up for the first time. “I would prefer to hear the words from this young man’s mouth instead.” 

 

Remus’ eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step backwards, only to be gripped tighter by Mr. Diggle. Sirius wasn’t sure if Remus’ fear was from being asked to speak in front of a crowd of people who wanted him dead, or if he was startled that Dumbledore had referred to him as a “young man” rather than a “thing.” 

 

“Er,” said Remus, surveying the table as though, at any given moment, someone was going to jump up and drive a blade through his temple. Not an entirely unwarranted fear. Sirius and the other five regarded Remus with trepidation. Remus cast a brief glance in Sirius’ direction, and the sight of his face seemed to steady his resolve. Sirius could see the gravity of his betrayal washing over Remus’ ashen face, as Remus turned back to the others with a renewed sense of confidence.

 

“I come in peace?” Remus said with a grin that was clearly trying to break through some of the tension in the room. When no one acknowledged Remus’ joke, the tension in the room merely welled up further, and Remus deflated. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I don’t know why I keep thinking that’ll work.”

 

“Why don’t you start by telling us how you ended up in this condition,” said Dumbledore gently. 

 

“I was bitten,” said Remus. The ‘duh’ was implied.

 

“By whom?”

 

“By someone like me, and let me tell you, wherever he is now, he isn’t coming in peace.” 

 

“I see,” said Dumbledore. “And am I right to presume that by ‘someone like me’ you’re referring to your,” he gestured at Remus’ overall person, and Remus smirked.

 

“He was a Deadhead with a brain, if that’s what you mean.”

 

“A stranger?”

 

Remus furrowed his brow. “No,” he said. “A colleague of my Dad’s. Or, well...more like an enemy of my Dad’s.”

 

“Did this enemy have a name?”

 

“Fenrir Greyback.” 

 

At this the atmosphere of the room shifted. Dumbledore nodded sagely, contemplating his laced fingers on his lap. McGonagall visibly tensed, Aberforth and Moody shared a significant look, and everyone else seemed more or less bewildered.

 

“And what of your friends here?” said Dumbledore, looking up once more, gesturing to where the other six still sat in silence. “Where do they come into the equation?”

 

Remus continued to refuse to physically acknowledge them. He shrugged his shoulder, eyes deliberately focused on the ceiling. He said, “I saved their arses from a pack, and they convinced me to be their semi-human shield, under the guise of their protection against Heartbeaters who were out for my blood.” He smiled grimly, and added, in a voice that was nearly inaudible, “You see how well that worked out.”

 

Sirius’ guilt gathered in his belly and went all the way up to the back of his throat. He wanted to take Remus by the shoulders and assure him that he was an idiot but not disloyal, would he please forgive his betrayal? But he couldn’t. Not now, not at the table with a gathering of Living who were still regarding Remus with a wary indignation; not while their immediate future was in such flux. But God he wished Remus would look at him, just long enough for him to mouth an apology, at the very least.

 

Dumbledore seemed to have made a decision. He got to his feet and went to stand beside Remus. He gently took Mr. Diggle’s hand, and removed his grip on Remus’ body. “We aren’t going to harm this boy, Mr. Diggle.” Dumbledore turned to address everyone else. “ _ None of us  _ are going to harm him.”

 

This news was met with an array of emotions. Some, like Hagrid and Molly, seemed to immediately accept this declaration, as though if it were a decree from Dumbledore, then it must be for the well-being of them all. Others, like McGonagall and Moody, appeared compliant but severe. Snape merely appeared disgusted.

 

As for Sirius, he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Remus would never forgive them, but at least their actions wouldn’t cost him his life. 

 

“However,” said Dumbledore sternly. “For the time being, I am afraid I cannot allow—I’m dreadfully sorry, my dear boy, I’ve yet to ask you your name?”

 

“Remus Lupin,” said Remus quietly.

 

“Remus Lupin, a smart name if I’ve ever heard one.” He put a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Please do not take what I am going to say here personally. It is just that, in these trying times, we must take all precautions.”

 

“You’re locking me up, aren’t you?” asked Remus. He met Dumbledore with a steady gaze. Dumbledore had the decency to look regretful.

 

“Consider it, instead, a brief stint in a room all your own,” he said, and Remus scoffed. “Right, perhaps not. But you understand why I cannot have you wandering around freely on my grounds. Not for the time being.”

 

“Jail me if you must, but don’t insult me trying to make me accept that it’s for the greater good.”

 

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. He turned to Diggle. “He is to be kept in the shed behind the garden. A lock shall be installed, and a guard shall be placed outside his door at all times.” 

 

“Yes, Mr. Dumbledore, sir,” squeaked Diggle. Sirius’ stomach dropped. A shed? A guard? This was all his fault.

 

“Mr. Lupin, it is not my intention to make your living quarters undesirable, although I fear you may consider them to be so. Is there any way I can lessen your discomfort? Is there anything you require? Sustenance? Bedding? Forgive me, but I am not familiar with the specifics of your particular ailment.” 

 

“Books,” said Remus. “Do you have any books? And something to read by.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. “We’ve amassed quite an impressive library with the arrival of so many refugees. You shall be permitted one book at a time, but may request a new one whenever it pleases you. Now, Mr. Diggle will show you to your current quarters, first with a stop at the library room, and he will equip you with a lantern. Any questions?”

 

Remus seemed to consider his next sentence. “Yes, one. How do you know of Greyback?” 

 

It hadn’t passed by Sirius, nor, he suspected, any of his friends, that several members of The Order clearly knew more than what they were saying. Dumbledore smiled.

 

“There is a great deal I know, Mr. Lupin, and I hope that in time you will come to know them as well.”

 

“Well that’s cryptic,” said Remus, unimpressed. He gestured at Mr. Diggle. “Lead the way to my prison, sir,” he said. Mr. Diggle seemed less than thrilled about having to lead around a Flesh Biter, but he headed toward the door anyway.

 

“Your friends are more than welcome to visit you as frequently as you would like,” Dumbledore added as Remus was halfway out the door. He paused briefly, and then said to the floor,

 

“Tell them not to bother.”

 

And then he was gone. 

 

—-

 

“You’re looking a lot better, Pete,” said James. It was dawn. They had went back to their tent after the meeting was dismissed, and tried to sleep, but Sirius and Lily had slept for nearly a full day each, and the rest seemed too wired with the new information. They spent a few hours discussing the implications of what they’d learned, decidedly avoiding the topic of Remus, until they all grew stir-crazy, and Sirius suggested they go check on Peter.

 

And James was right; Peter was looking better. Not perfect, by any stretch, still flushed with fever and a croaky voice, but his cough didn’t register quite as low in his chest, and his eyes were more focused than they had been in days.

 

“M’feeling a bit better,” he said, sounding as though he, too, had taken advantage of having something comfortable to sleep on for the first time in who knows how long. “Hurts less in here.” He gestured at his upper torso with a weak hand. 

 

“Told you we’d get you well,” said James.

 

“We had to,” added Sirius. “Without you who would we send into caves and trenches when we don’t want to?”

 

“I appreciate the love,” mumbled Peter, pressing back against his pillow. He surveyed the lot of them. “Where’s Remus?” 

 

“Er,” said James, as Marlene, Dorcas, and Lily shifted uncomfortably, and Sirius sighed guiltily into his hands. 

 

“We fucked up,” he said through his palms. He lifted his head. “We forgot—fucking  _ forgot _ —to go get him before we went to the meeting with The Order.”

 

“The Order?” asked Peter.

 

“That’s a whole other story,” said James.

 

“We’ll fill you in,” assured Lily.

 

“But the point is,” Sirius continued. “Is that Remus came looking for us, and got caught. He held up our end of the bargain, and got fucked over because of it, all because we were absolute idiots.” 

 

“There was a lot to process, it’s understandable it would slip our mind,” said Marlene, clearly trying to expunge her guilt. 

 

“He’s part of our group,” said James solemnly. “We owed him the same courtesy we would have afforded each other.” Sirius felt a bit better knowing that James felt their mistake as heavily as he did. 

 

“Wait, so what happened to him?” asked Peter, pushing himself up in his cot and wincing. “Did they…?” He put two fingers to his temple and mimed a gunshot. Sirius’ skin went cold with goose pimples at the inelegant display.

 

“No,” James said quickly. “But they did lock him away.”

 

“In a fucking shed,” Sirius added bitterly.

 

“Did you explain his story to them?” asked Peter.

 

“Yeah, and that’s a whole other thing,” said Dorcas, arms crossed. 

 

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the door to the infirmary swung open and Ms. Pomfrey rushed inside, Molly at her heels, and Hagrid trailing them both, carrying a moaning, limp body in his arms.

 

“This cot here,” said Pomfrey briskly, turning down the sheets on the closest bed. She glanced up at their group gathered around Peter’s bed, and barely paying them any mind, waved her hand at them and shouted, “Out.”

 

But they didn’t leave. The six of them were rooted in their spots, staring, transfixed, as Hagrid lowered the body onto the cot. It was a man, and he was covered in blood and grit. He let out wails of pain as he was jostled around.

 

“Did they say what happened to him?” asked Molly in a high voice.

 

“Misfire,” Hagrid said gruffly. 

 

“Make yourselves useful and help me remove his clothing,” snapped Pomfrey. Molly jumped into action, and began ripping apart fabric on the writhing man, while Pomfrey turned around and began fiddling about in a drawer, grabbing handfuls of supplies.

 

Molly’s hands suddenly stilled. “Poppy?” she said in a hushed whisper. Pomfrey swung back to the patient and looked down at what Molly had found.

 

There was a moment of silence between all three of them, the only sound coming from the mouth of the suffering man. Pomfrey then tsked her tongue.

 

“Shame,” she muttered. When Molly didn’t move, Pomfrey snapped her fingers. “Go on now,” she said, “you know what we’ve got to do.”

 

Molly turned the shade of the Deadheads, but nodded and waddled towards a cabinet where she pulled down a big, glass bottle. She unscrewed the lid, held it away from her, and grabbed a nearby rag. She pressed the rag against the opening of the bottle and tipped it over, letting the liquid inside the bottle soak into the rag.

 

She returned to her spot beside the cot, where Pomfrey was digging for something inside a drawer, and Hagrid was holding the man still. He shifted to let Molly through, and Molly pressed the rag against the man’s nose and mouth. Within a few seconds, the man stilled from inhaling what was clearly chloroform.

 

Pomfrey shut the drawer with a slam, and in her hand she held a long, sharp, metal object, the width of an index finger, and the tip pointed like a needle. Molly swiped at her cheek, as though brushing a tear, but kept her steady gaze. Hagrid hung his head.

 

Before Sirius thought to turn away, Pomfrey drove the metal sticker through the man’s temple, into his brain. After a few seconds, she pulled it out, and Molly pulled the blood-spattered white sheet up over the dead man’s head.

 

Bitten, Sirius realized, the man must have been bitten. 

 

Pomfrey looked their way again, but this time needn’t say anything. The group of them nodded wordless goodbyes to Peter, and stalked out of the infirmary like a funeral procession. Later, as they sat together in silence in the field, picking at their morning porridge, they saw Hagrid carrying a bundle wrapped in the same bloody sheet.

 

All six of them passed their breakfasts onto nearby refugees. For once, not a single one of them could fathom hunger.

 

—-

 

Sirius finally broke in late afternoon. He’d been trying to talk himself out of it all day, telling himself that it wasn’t a good idea, but when James and Dorcas had fallen asleep, Marlene went off to go chat with someone named Mary she had gotten on with at lunch, and Lily was engrossed in a book she pulled from the library, Sirius was left with no one to help prevent him from making dumb decisions. 

 

Which is how he found himself outside of the shed behind the garden. 

 

It was bigger than what he thought it would be, which made him feel better, but only a little. He stared at it at a distance, until the young guard he hadn’t met yet cleared her throat, which clearly meant, “Either come or go, but you’ve got to do one or the other.” Sirius tried one more time to convince himself to just turn around and go back, but his feet were already in motion before he even fully finished the thought. 

 

“May I go in and talk to him?” he asked the guard.

 

“Name?” she asked.

 

“Sirius Black.”

 

She picked up the clipboard sitting on the ground by her feet, and scanned a paper. “You’re on Dumbledore's approved list,” she said. She dropped the clipboard with little care and pulled a key out of her pocket. “Don’t try any funny business. I’ve got permission to shoot if I think the safety of the camp is at risk at all,” she said as she fiddled with the padlock. The lock came open with a ‘click!’, and she opened the door and gestured for Sirius to enter.

 

Remus, who was looking up to see why the door had suddenly opened, narrowed his eyes the second he saw Sirius in the threshold. 

 

“Go away,” he said, turning his attention back to the book that was sat in his lap. Sirius ignored him, stepping the rest of the way inside. The guard slammed the door, and he jumped.

 

“I need to talk to you,” he said tentatively once he recovered. 

 

“Not interested,” said Remus. He stared determinedly down at the book, but Sirius could tell his eyes weren’t scanning down the page at all. Sirius took a calculated step forward, and then another, until he was just in front of Remus. 

 

Remus was sat on an old, dusty bench that was built into the infrastructure of the shed. The single room had been built to hold large farming equipment and tools, and empty, all that was left were bare shelves and hooks along the walls, and big collections of spider webs and mouse feces in the corners and on the floors. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

 

“Don’t be,” said Remus, flipping a page, even though Sirius was willing to bet he hadn’t read a word of the previous one.

 

“I am anyway,” Sirius continued, trying not to be deterred. “I promise it wasn’t on purpose. It was a stupid mistake.”

 

At this, Remus laughed humorlessly. “So,” he said to his book, “you didn’t  _ try _ and get me caught, it just happened because I was of so little consequence to you that you forgot about me. You’re right, I feel loads better now.”

 

“That’s not what I meant—” Sirius began, but Remus cut him off, finally snapping his head up, eyes blazing.

 

“Save it, Sirius, I mean it. I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t care. I don’t blame you, I blame myself. I should never have thought I could be one of you. I knew better, but I let myself get involved with you anyway, and look at where I ended up.” He waved his arms around the claustrophobic space. “It’s what I deserve.”

 

“Stop that,” Sirius said, suddenly charged. He squatted down so he could be level to Remus’ seated position. “Stop that right now. You  _ are _ one of us. And we’re all eating ourselves up for what we did to one of our own. I don’t expect you to forgive us, but don’t sit here and wallow, thinking this was because of anything but our own stupidity.” 

 

“Look at me, Sirius,” said Remus.

 

“I am.”

 

“No, I mean  _ really _ look at me. What do you see?”

 

“I see you,” said Sirius, and Remus scoffed.

 

“Do me the courtesy of sparing me more lies,” he said. “But fine, if you don’t say it, I will: A monster. You see a monster. Something inhuman; something that should never have existed to begin with...something that should have died when it was supposed to. I know you think it. I know everyone does.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but his face betrayed him. “Maybe you’re not wrong.”

 

“Jesus, Remus,” said Sirius, dropping to his knees and placing two purposeful hands on Remus’ shoulders. “You are  _ not _ a monster, okay? You have a consciousness, and compassion—God, you have so much compassion. You held up your end of the bargain when you could have just...What?” 

 

Sirius paused mid-sentence as he realized Remus wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. Instead, he was staring in wonder at one of Sirius’ hands on his shoulder, so transfixed he forgot to remind himself to blink. 

 

“Remus?” asked Sirius. No answer, so Sirius shook him a little, finally snapping him out of his...whatever it was. He turned his head slowly, almost dreamlike, and met Sirius’ eyes with a big crease between his brows. “What is it?” asked Sirius, perplexed.

 

“I can feel that,” said Remus, sounding nothing short of astonished.

 

“Feel what?” asked Sirius, and Remus nodded to the side to indicate where Sirius was gripping him tight. “You mean you can feel my hand on you? Like you could, you know, before?”

 

“Yeah,” said Remus, the furrow in his brow getting deeper. “Like right there, you just squeezed your fingers.”

 

And it was true; Sirius had involuntarily clenched his hands. 

 

They stared at one another.

 

“What does it mean?” he asked Remus.

 

Remus searched his face, as though looking for answers there, before finally shaking his head.

 

“I don’t have a fucking clue.”

 

Just then, the door to the shed opened with a creak, and Sirius pulled back his hands on instinct, hearing Remus let out a small noise of protest from the sudden lack of the first human touch he’d had since he turned. 

 

“Ah, Mr. Black,” said Dumbledore, standing almost taller than the doorframe. “Come to make amends with Mr. Lupin here, I trust?”

 

“Er,” said Sirius, not sure if amends had been made or not. “Yeah?”

 

“Most excellent. We’ve got enough evil in this world, there’s no reason to be making enemies with our friends.” He took several strides into the shed, and peered down at Remus through his half-moon spectacles. “I apologize for interrupting your reunion, but I need to speak with you, Mr. Lupin, however I see no reason why Mr. Black can’t stay, as long as you don’t object to his presence.” 

 

“...What?” asked Remus, clearly still taken aback by what had transpired before Dumbledore entered.

 

“We need to discuss where we go from here,” said Dumbledore. “I need you to tell me what you know about your own condition, and anything you know about others like yourself.”

 

At this, Remus seemed to come back into himself. He blinked a few times in rapid succession, as though bringing himself back from wherever his brain had taken him. He cleared his throat.

 

“Well,” he said carefully. “Quid pro quo, Clarice. I’ll give you what I know, but I expect answers in return.”

 

Dumbledore pouted out his lower lip in contemplation, and nodded.

 

“Yes, I believe that’s a perfectly sound expectation,” he said, lacing his hands together and standing patiently. “What would you like to know first?”

 

Remus regarded Dumbledore for a long moment. Finally, he said,

 

“Tell me everything you know about Fenrir Greyback.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shorter than the others, sorry, it just worked out that way. also i'm off schedule. no one's surprised. i'm not too off, though, and my other WIP is updated today too, if you read that as well. i think technically next sunday is supposed to be the next update on this story, so that's what i will aim towards. 
> 
> yada yada my tumblr url yada yada
> 
> im tired, bye


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